


Shadow of Doubt

by cheride



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Gen, Interrogation, Kidnapped Peter, Suspect Neal, Suspicions, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:07:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24828802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheride/pseuds/cheride
Summary: It should have been the final takedown after a routine undercover operation, but when their covers are blown, Peter is taken and Neal is implicated in his disappearance. Sidelined from the search, Neal does what he can to help while trying to prove his innocence to the White Collar unit.
Comments: 33
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The characters and concepts of _White Collar_ do not belong to me, but to their creator, but I sure do appreciate the loan.

* * *

Neal Caffrey awoke lying on the carpeted floor. Within seconds, he recalled the blackness that had claimed him immediately after being drugged, and he muttered the agreed-upon code to summon the team of FBI agents waiting outside.

Dragging himself to his feet, he realized he was alone in the office even though he and Peter Burke—or, rather, Neal Hanser and Peter Bardwell—had been here together before the unexpected attack. Running to check the two small adjoining offices, Caffrey called out to the agents again, alerting them that Peter was gone. It was a small office suite, and he was definitely alone.

Suddenly, the room was swarming with agents, but Neal barely registered their presence; he only knew that he had to find Peter.

“Neal!” Diana Berrigan yelled out the minute Caffrey was in her sight. “Where’s Peter?”

“I don’t know, he’s gone!” Neal was already turned toward the exit. “We need to—” His words choked off as Berrigan grabbed his arm and pulled him back to her.

“ _Caffrey_. Don’t play games. Where is Peter?”

Only then did Neal notice the anger and resentment on her face. And not just Diana, but Jones was staring at him, as well, and even the other agents going about their own business were shooting daggers at him. His instinctive attempt to jerk out of her grip stopped immediately. “Diana?”

“Do not screw with me, Neal; you’re not going anywhere. We heard Prinz; we know you’re part of it.” She suddenly seemed more sad than angry, but she hadn’t released her hold on Caffrey.

“You know _what_? No! I wouldn’t . . . I mean, I—I—I couldn’t . . . that’s—” He stopped, took a breath, forced himself to focus. “Diana, you can’t think I would do this, not to _Peter_?” But then his shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly as he saw that she did think precisely that. He didn’t even take much comfort in the fact that she at least seemed surprised by the idea, that such an ultimate betrayal hadn’t been a foregone conclusion for her. He cast a quick, appraising scan over Jones, but he didn’t see any such surprise there. He let out a small sigh, but there really wasn’t time to be worried about this now. The agents had work to do, with or without him. He turned back to Berrigan.

“Look, I don’t know what you heard or think you know, but we’re wasting time. If you don’t trust me, then turn me over to one of the Harvard crew to be taken back to the office, or even a holding cell. Hell, throw me in the MCC if that’s what you think you need to do, but, Diana, _please_ , find Peter.”

Berrigan dug her fingers deeper into Caffrey’s arm, her eyes searching his face like some sort of human lie detector. Neal simply stood, absorbing it all, willing her to recognize his sincerity, but, in the end, it wasn’t enough. She glanced around at the various other agents on site. “Maybe Blake—”

“I’ll take him,” Jones interrupted.

“We should head up the search,” Diana told him.

“She’s right,” Caffrey immediately concurred. “Peter needs you two; he needs the best.”

Jones kept his gaze on Berrigan, ignoring the CI completely. “He needs to be interrogated by someone who knows him.”

“ _Interro_ —?” Neal felt Diana sink into his arm again, and he shut up.

Berrigan yielded to the logic. “Okay. Let me know what you find out.” She gave one last squeeze to the arm in her grip. “Caffrey, whatever you know—”

“I’ll tell him,” Caffrey agreed readily, not bothering to point out that he really didn’t know anything at all.

Berrigan finally released the death-grip and immediately strode over to the other agents, already calling orders as she went.

“So, I guess it’s just you and me,” Neal said, turning toward Jones. He kept his tone light, but couldn’t find the grin he would’ve normally offered.

“Hands,” Clinton ordered in response.

Caffrey bit back any objection and silently put his hands out in front of him, wrists close together and relaxed. He didn’t intend to slip these off and escape; he couldn’t have the agents’ attention divided between looking for him and looking for Peter. Jones locked the first bracelet tighter than necessary, then suddenly spun Caffrey around, pulling the manacled hand behind his back, and dragged the right wrist back to be cuffed alongside its mate. Neal rolled his eyes but stayed quiet.

“Blake!” Jones called to the young agent who was busy photographing and documenting the scene, “I’m going to need that audio emailed to me right away.” Then he grabbed his prisoner’s arm and finally steered him toward the door. “Let’s go, Caffrey.”

* * *

Neal sat in the interrogation room, silently fuming. Did no one understand the urgency here? The ride back to the federal building had been made in angry silence, with Jones unwilling to allow any conversation. Once they’d reached the twenty-first floor, the agent had immediately led Caffrey to an interrogation room, shoved him roughly down into a chair, and then disappeared. That had been almost half an hour earlier, and Neal was ready to get things rolling. The sooner Jones understood his innocence in all this, the sooner the man could do his actual job and help find Burke, hopefully allowing the CI to join in the hunt. Caffrey had tried yelling after him as he walked away, then talking sincerely to the observation window to whoever might be watching him, and, finally, he had resorted to just outright screaming, hoping to get someone’s attention, but nothing worked. So now he waited quietly, fuming.

Then, when Caffrey had almost decided to break his promise to himself about the handcuffs, Jones stepped back into the room. “Finally!”

Clinton grimaced at him. “I don’t work on your timetable, Caffrey.”

“Whatever.” Neal sighed and tried to force down the frustration. “Hey, do you think you could take these things off me? I don’t even think I can feel my fingers anymore.”

“It’s probably safer that way,” Jones snapped.

“I know you don’t leave your other suspects chained up like this.”

“Other suspects haven’t been responsible for kidnapping an FBI agent.”

“This one isn’t either,” Caffrey answered flatly, letting his eyes meet the other man’s. When Jones didn’t answer, Caffrey added another thought. “Do you honestly think I’d still be wearing these if I really wanted out of them?”

The logic finally seemed to get through, and Jones fished a key out of his pocket. He unlocked the first bracelet, then pulled Caffrey’s hands together in front and locked them together again, though he did take the time to loosen the tension slightly.

Neal resisted the impulse to complain, recognizing he was fortunate Jones didn’t actually chain him to the table as well. “Thank you.” He flexed his hands, trying to get the circulation back into his fingers.

“I expect you to keep them on,” Jones told him firmly, and seemed to accept it when Neal simply nodded his understanding. Finally taking his seat across the table, the agent powered on the recording microphones, pushed one directly in front of his prisoner, and then said simply, “You want to tell me what happened?”

Neal arched an eyebrow while he examined him for a moment. He thought maybe the short break had helped calm the young agent, that _maybe_ the guy would be willing to consider another viewpoint on whatever had made him so sure of the CI’s guilt beforehand. Neal could work with that, so he took a breath and began.

“Honestly, there isn’t a lot to tell. We went into the office at ten, right on time. Prinz was there, and I saw a couple of his goon squad. We were sitting, doing that silence thing he insists on.” Neal gave a small shrug as if to say, _what are you going to do_? “He was quiet a lot longer than normal this time.”

“We noticed that,” Clinton interjected. “Was he _doing_ anything during that time?”

Caffrey shook his head. “Just sitting, just like he’d done the other times, playing whatever mind game it is he plays with that trick.” Though he spoke with derision, the truth was, the first time they’d met with Prinz, Neal had thought the guy’s insistence that no one in the room speak until it was specifically allowed was an ingenious way of seizing control, even if it was annoying to be on the receiving end. But by this morning, he’d been ready to be done with the games and was exceedingly glad this would be the last meeting. “But you know how it’s been—just a few minutes to prove who’s boss and then he gets on with things, but not today. He just kept staring at us. Something was wrong; I could feel it. I think Peter felt it, too, but we were trying not to jump to any conclusions and risk blowing the op. Finally, after almost ten minutes, I knew we needed to get out. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I knew things were going bad, I _knew_ it.” He paused, shaking his head despairingly, guilt painted on his face. “I should’ve given you the signal right then.

“Anyway, I figured I’d break the no talking rule and then leave it up to Peter to decide whether we should deal with that or go ahead and call in the cavalry. So, I just leaned over a little bit and whispered to him, ‘Hey, Peter,’ but that was as far as I got. When I moved, I saw that there were more than just a couple of goons, but it was too late. The two who were guarding us put something over our faces—like chloroform or something—and I think they injected something into my neck.” Caffrey rubbed absently at a spot under his collar that he hadn’t even thought about until now. “Whatever it was,” he added, “it was fast.” Jones held up a hand to stop the recitation.

The agent turned toward the observation window. “Get a lab tech down here right away for a draw.” He returned his attention to Caffrey. “I assume you’re not gonna make us get a court order for that?”

Neal narrowed his eyes and stared across the table. “You’re the only one who thinks I’ve switched sides. But I appreciate you pretending I even have a choice.”

“Okay, go on.”

Caffrey picked up his story. “The other guys, I honestly don’t know where they came from, it was like out of nowhere, and they were just holding us so we couldn’t struggle, couldn’t move at all, but like I said, it was fast. I think I was probably out within ten seconds, or maybe I just couldn’t think after that and they held us in those chairs a lot longer, I don’t know. All I know is I woke up on the floor and Peter was gone. I called you guys in while I looked around the other couple of rooms trying to find him, and here we are.” Caffrey looked at Jones curiously. “Though, now that I think about it, the team seemed to get there awfully fast. I thought you were probably at least two minutes out. I was kind of groggy when I first woke up, but I seem to remember thinking that maybe Peter had already called you.”

“And you don’t remember anything else that happened?” Jones asked.

“I’m telling you, there’s nothing else _to_ remember; that’s _all_ that happened. Now, do you maybe want to tell me what would make you think I’d ever do anything to hurt Peter?”

Jones ignored the question and posed one of his own. “When did you first meet Prinz?”

“Last week,” Caffrey responded slowly, voice dripping with exaggerated patience, “when Peter and I went to his office the first time.”

“And have you had any contact with him outside of the times you and Peter have visited his offices?”

“No.”

“How about any of his people? Any contact with any of them?”

“No.”

“Anyone operating on his behalf in any way?”

“No.”

“Has Mozzie—or anyone else operating on your behalf—been in contact with Prinz, or anyone working on his behalf?”

Caffrey almost grinned. Jones was getting better at asking questions that didn’t give him much of an opportunity to artfully deceive. It was a good thing he didn’t need to lie about this. “No.”

The agent finally asked the overarching question. “Did you participate in any way in the planning or execution of Agent Burke’s kidnapping?”

“No. And do me a favor and don’t use the word execution with Peter’s name again.”

“Tell me about the last time you were in prison,” Jones said suddenly.

“I’m—sorry, what?”

“Your last incarceration. When was it?”

Caffrey was suddenly too aware of his body. The cold tendril of fear that made its way down his spine, the hot spit of terror settling in his gut, the way he had to pull his hands down to his lap, fists clenched, to stop the shaking, and, over it all, the dark despair of grief in his heart. He swallowed hard. Jones wasn’t playing fair to bring this up now, but he knew he couldn’t just ignore the man. He licked his lips and forced an answer. “I was released about four weeks ago,” he said slowly, no inflection, “after being incarcerated for approximately two months.”

“And the charges? The reason for your incarceration?”

“ _Charges_ makes it seem more formal than it was. The FBI accused me of attempting to escape during my probation after I had been released into the Bureau’s custody. They also were investigating my possible involvement in the . . . the death of Kate Moreau.”

“Tell me about your relationship with Peter Burke.”

“Officially, he’s my FBI handler, responsible for my supervision during my probation.”

“And unofficially?”

Caffrey glared at the agent. “You _know_ —” He closed his eyes briefly. “He’s my partner,” he said, eyes still closed, blocking out everything, “he’s my friend.”

“He was with you at the time of Ms. Moreau’s death?”

“Yes,” Caffrey said tightly. He might’ve preferred to continue this conversation with his eyes closed for the duration, but then he wouldn’t have been able to glare at Jones.

“And he allowed the marshals to arrest you immediately after her death to return you to prison?”

“Again, I’d question your word choice, Agent. I’m not sure ‘allowed’ is precisely accurate. It happened; I don’t think Agent Burke had any control over it.”

“So you wouldn’t be trying to find some kind of revenge against Agent Burke? Maybe you think he failed you? Failed Kate?”

“Of course not.” When another question wasn’t fired his way after a couple of minutes, he tried his own again. “I’m still trying to figure out what would make you think I’d ever do anything to hurt Peter?”

Jones sat silently for a long moment, examining the man on the other side of the table. Neal remained quiet, too, bound hands clasped lightly on the tabletop, blue eyes never wavering. Finally, Jones dragged his phone out of his jacket, pulled up a recording Blake had emailed and hit play. “This is your transmission.”

Neal listened intently, though there really wasn’t much to hear beyond seemingly interminable silence. He finally heard his aborted warning to Peter but was surprised when he didn’t hear himself fall to the floor. He heard Prinz reprimand him for daring to speak—which he hadn’t heard the first time around—then maybe another fifteen minutes of silence before he heard his own voice again. First, a sluggish prearranged signal, “Looking forward to working with you,” then, almost immediately, a more straight-forward, frantic message, “Peter’s gone, everyone’s gone!” And, finally, not even thirty seconds later, the shouts of the team of agents bursting in. Jones stopped the playback as soon as he heard Diana’s greeting.

Leaning back in his chair, Caffrey hitched an eyebrow. “Sounds remarkably the way I described it,” he gloated, “including the fact that you guys got there much too quickly to be coming in on my signal. So, what tipped you off? Just finally too much silence? Or did Peter actually manage to get a message out?”

Jones still hadn’t stopped staring at his prisoner, his dark eyes seeming intent on piercing the soul of the blue pair across from him. And he was still more interested in asking questions than answering them. “You said they knocked you out?”

“Yeah.”

“And you woke up on the floor?”

Caffrey just nodded, but Jones gestured impatiently toward the microphone. “Yes, I woke up on the floor.”

“You still had the pen in your shirt pocket, right?”

“You’re the one who took it from me before you threw me in the back of that sedan like a common criminal. It was where it always is.”

Jones ignored the attitude. “I’m just wondering why we didn’t hear any sort of struggle, even if it was only ten seconds worth, or why we didn’t hear you fall to the floor. You know we usually get pretty good reception with that thing, but there’s nothing more than just a little bit of normal movement—absolutely no indication that someone suddenly overpowered you then left you unconscious while they took Peter. Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know,” Caffrey answered, forcing himself not to sigh. “One minute I was awake and the next I wasn’t, and then by the time I was again, Peter was gone. But I told you, they held us _tight_. Between the surprise attack, the drugs, and several much larger men holding me in place, I couldn’t manage a lot of struggling, and my guess is Peter couldn’t either. Look, I don’t know anything else, and the longer you sit here asking me these questions, the less good you’re doing your boss.”

“Tell me about when you woke up,” Clinton instructed.

“Oh my _God_ , Jones, listen! I woke up, I was on the floor, I gave you guys the signal, I looked for Peter, you came and arrested me, we’re here. That is _all_.”

At that moment, the glass door opened, and a young lab technician entered, carrying a small case. Jones pointed her toward Caffrey, then told the con man, “And you’re not technically under arrest.”

Neal’s eyes widened. “Does that mean I can—?”

“No,” the agent interrupted firmly. “Just keep talking.”

This time, the sigh slipped out, but Caffrey turned his attention to the tech, taking a break from the interrogation. Without any conscious thought, he noted her smooth, warm skin, light hazel eyes, and golden blonde hair pulled loosely back from her face. He rolled his chair closer to the table so he could stretch his arm out, supported, then smiled at the young woman as she unbuttoned his cuff and began to roll up his sleeve. He took a moment to be grateful that Neal Hanser was a casual sort who didn’t wear a jacket, though it would’ve given him an excellent excuse to free his hands. “Sorry,” he told her, his voice habitually warm and inviting, “I’d help you out, but . . .” he jangled the handcuffs in demonstration, “you know.”

She returned the smile timidly as she went about her task. “No problem. What is it we’re looking for?”

“Any kind of incapacitating agent,” Jones broke in, then glared across the table. “Caffrey, talk.”

“It was something _fast_ ,” Neal stage whispered to the technician, leaning closer, as if inviting her into a conspiracy, “and it didn’t last long.”

Then he finally looked back at Jones. “I. Woke. Up. On. The. Floor. What else do you want to know?”

“Were you in the same place? Had they moved you? Did you fall out of the chair? Was anything else out of place? _Think_.”

“I don’t _know_ ,” he said in exasperation, “I was on the—— no, wait.” He thought for a couple of seconds. “When I woke up, I was in the same room, right by the chair I’d been sitting in, but I was stretched out on the floor, flat on my back.” He looked back at Jones. “Like someone had _placed_ me there.”

Jones was nodding. “See, that wasn’t so hard, right?”

And in that instant, the young agent sounded so much like Peter Burke that Neal felt his breath catch briefly. He really needed to get out of here, but he was sure they hadn’t even scratched the surface of the problem. “We should be looking for Peter,” he said softly, lost for a moment in worst-case scenarios.

But before he could make any kind of argument, the technician was folding his arm up over a cotton ball, refocusing him again. “Hold that in place for a couple minutes,” she told him kindly, then gathered her supplies and the vial of blood into her case.

“I need that an hour ago,” Jones told her. “It goes to the head of the line.” She simply nodded and moved quickly out the door.

Caffrey let his eyes lock with the agent’s again. “You still haven’t told me why I’m here.”

Jones moved his fingers over his phone again, pulling up another recording. “This is Peter’s transmission.”

“I hope we’re at least going to stipulate that the first ten minutes or so is identical to the one we’ve already listened to,” Neal said, trying to tamp down his frustration.

“We are,” Jones assured him.

After just a couple of seconds, Neal heard his voice again, “Hey, Peter,” Prinz’s brief rebuke, and then it was back to silence. And Jones was back to staring across the table, never taking his eyes off the face of the young man in front of him.

Caffrey wished they could skip the second round of silence, as well, because as he sat through the hushed minutes on the recording, he could feel the fear settle into the pit of his stomach. Nothing that Jones had asked him about so far warranted what was going on here and Diana had said they’d heard something, which meant it had to be on this recording. Waiting to hear whatever had turned them against him so quickly was nerve-racking. But with Jones’ eyes drilling holes into him, Neal knew he couldn’t afford to be caught off guard, so he was carefully schooling his expression not to betray anything, no matter what he might hear.

Finally, the conversation picked up again.

> _“I apologize for the lengthy delay, Mr. Bardwell,” Prinz said to Peter, still sounding like a consummate host, “but your associate does not seem to know how to keep his mouth shut.”_
> 
> _“And I apologize for **that** , Mr. Prinz, but what’s going on here? Where **is** my associate?”_
> 
> _“I thought perhaps we should continue our discussions in private.”_
> 
> _“Whatever you think is best, I’m really looking forward to working with you.”_

Caffrey was relieved to hear Burke’s voice; at least he had woken up from whatever they’d been dosed with and was clear-headed enough to call for help. But his relief was short-lived.

> _“It’s funny,” Prinz replied, “that’s exactly what Mr. Caffrey said when we made our deal.”_
> 
> _“Who? When . . . what was that?”_
> 
> _“Your associate,” Prinz said smugly, “when he realized my passports and currency were just the things he needed to take his leave of you, but he needed to make sure you wouldn’t come after him. A simple exchange of services allowed us to avoid your ill-advised raid, and your associate will no longer need to worry that you will be able to track him down **ever** again.”_
> 
> _“I don’t believe you.”_
> 
> After that, there was only more silence.

Caffrey sat back, stunned. Absentmindedly, he accepted that he likely wasn’t controlling his expression after all. “I didn’t . . . I mean, that isn’t . . .” The weak objections trailed off. He knew Jones was still staring at him, knew his inability to respond almost certainly made him look surprised at being caught rather than simply being _surprised_ , and knew that he needed to mount some sort of defense. But he also knew immediately that there was nothing he could say that would refute what they’d just heard on the recording, so he simply sat, stunned. And terrified. The way the conversation had just stopped—no way to know what had happened next, or what was going to happen now, but making clear that Prinz didn’t intend to release Peter—that was far more terrifying than the idea that he could be spending the rest of his life behind bars. The only saving grace, tiny though it may be, was that Peter Burke had not believed the lie.

Neal found himself staring down at his chained hands, wondering briefly if he should reconsider his willingness to be held here. No matter what they thought, escape would not be particularly difficult, and once Peter was back where he belonged, they’d be able to sort out the rest of it then. But, as with each time the thought had crossed his mind today, Neal realized he would never forgive himself if even one agent had to be pulled off the search for Peter just to help search for a fugitive CI. He finally raised his head slowly. He wasn’t surprised to find Jones still studying him intently.

“I can’t explain it,” Caffrey said sincerely, “I can only tell you it’s not true. Obviously, they made us somehow, but I promise you, Jones, it wasn’t me. I won’t even waste time trying to convince you that I would _never_ betray him like this, I’ll just say that _this_ time, right _now_ , it wasn’t me.”

Jones shook his head. “And I guess I’m just supposed to take your word for that?” he demanded. “Because you’ve never kept any secrets from us before, right? Like you weren't ready to run from your commitment to Agent Burke by fleeing his jurisdiction not even six months ago?"

Caffrey just clenched his jaw, offered a slight shrug, and didn’t rise to the bait. “I don’t have any way to prove it to you.” He considered a moment before adding, “But you have to admit, if I was going to do it, it wouldn’t make _any_ sense to do it this way.”

“Like Prinz said, passports and money are exactly what you’d need to disappear.”

“And you think I couldn’t get those things some other way? Besides, it would be _real_ money; no way I’d try to run with counterfeit. And, honestly, what makes you think I’d even _need_ his stuff? I could have it all already.” He knew that likely wasn’t the brightest argument, but this was ridiculous.

“We didn’t find it,” Jones returned blandly.

Caffrey felt his jaw clench against a sudden new anger. “You searched my place?” Not that he should be surprised, of course. But he’d have to remember to apologize to June for the feds busting into her house like that.

“Of course we searched your place, Caffrey; what did you expect us to do?”

“What I’d _like_ you to do is trust me at least enough to know that I’d never purposely put Peter in any danger. What happened with Kate wasn’t his fault; I’m not trying to escape.” He shook his head roughly and tried again to rein in his anger and fear. “Anyway, besides the fact that I’m not planning on running, wouldn’t use Prinz’s services if I were, and you obviously didn’t find the smoking gun you were looking for, exactly how do you suppose I was planning on pulling off this escape? Which part of a totally blown undercover op and a missing agent do you think makes it easy for me to disappear? Because if you think for even a _minute_ this is the way I’d do it, then you haven’t been paying attention.”

Agent Jones seemed to be fighting back a grin at that, but he managed. “I’d assume you hadn’t intended us to hear your new partner telling Peter how you sold him out, then you’d hang around for the day, pretending to be worried and helping with the search, and then tonight, you’d be gone. Seems pretty straight-forward to me.”

“You think I’d forget Peter would be wearing a microphone? You wound me.” Then, before Jones could say anything further, Neal continued, “And I _am_ worried, and would help with the search if you’d let me.” But he held his hands out quickly, warding off the objections. “I know, I know. You don’t trust me, I got it. Just tell me what’s next.”

“Talk to me about what you heard on there.”

“You mean besides the blatant lies? It was as strange as my own recording in terms of what it was missing. Peter obviously moved around quite a bit during that silence, but it doesn’t sound like anything more than maybe nervous fidgeting. However they moved us, they were careful not to make it obvious, which means they had to know we were recording and didn’t want to show their hand too quickly.”

“Almost like someone had warned them,” Jones suggested pointedly.

Caffrey wished he could find fault in the logic. “Yeah, like that,” he sighed. “But, also, Peter wasn’t too worked up when he woke up. I mean, not panicked or flustered or anything.”

“He strikes you as the panicky kind?”

Neal smiled slightly, almost proudly. “Hardly. Maybe _confused_ is what I meant. Why wasn’t his first question ‘where am I?’”

“He was worried about you,” Jones pointed out. 

“Okay, but the way he phrased the question, like he thought I was the one who was missing instead of him. I don’t know. It seems off somehow.” Caffrey shrugged. “I don’t know,” he repeated, “just thinking out loud.” He paused, then asked, “What do you think they want with him?”

“There hasn’t been any sort of demand,” Jones told him slowly, obviously trying hard not to say something more, “they may not want anything.”

But Neal wasn’t accepting that. “ _No_ ,” he insisted. “If all they wanted was to, to, to . . . _hurt_ him, they wouldn’t have needed to take him.” He took a deep breath. “They caught us completely by surprise. If they’d wanted to, they could’ve killed us both instead of just knocking us out. They want _something_. I’m sure of it.”

Jones was looking at him much more thoughtfully now, and Neal was glad to see most of the true suspicion seemed to be fading, leaving behind just the kind of rote distrust of any lawman with unanswered questions, particularly questions concerning a criminal.

“You got any other ideas?” the agent asked.

Neal thought for another moment, then shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

After a slight pause, Jones said, “Not even going to point out to me that Peter didn’t believe the guy?”

Again, the almost-proud smile, and another shake of the head. “That’s important to me,” Caffrey said softly, “I don’t expect it to matter much to you.”

“Okay.” Jones looked again toward the observation window then made a slight beckoning gesture. “Someone else is going to join us,” he said to Caffrey.

Seeing the case the young man was carrying as he entered the room, Neal sighed. “Really? A polygraph? _Now_? After we’ve already been over everything?”

“Only if you consent,” Jones pointed out reasonably.

“Sure. And how much do you hold it against me if I refuse?”

“You’re within your rights to refuse.” He paused a moment, then added, “Though I might wonder what you’d be afraid of.”

“Of course you would,” Caffrey said grimly. He recognized a losing proposition. “Whatever. At least I’ll get out of the cuffs.”

“For a while,” Jones clarified, and the scowl he received from his prisoner didn’t seem to faze him at all.

* * *

Jones had covered all the same material the second time around, just slightly different phrasings, different order of questions, a different way of invoking Kate’s name to throw him off balance. Caffrey wasn’t even sure if Jones really believed his own line of crap about revenge for the events surrounding Kate’s death, but if provoking a visceral response was what he was after, it was working. As was the agent’s attempt to simply wear him down. If he wasn’t the one sitting here trapped in interrogation hell, he might be able to appreciate the technique. But now the operator was finally disconnecting the leads, so the questioning was hopefully drawing to a close.

The operator packed up his equipment and left the room without another word.

“Satisfied?” Neal asked.

“Hardly. I’d almost be disappointed if you _couldn’t_ beat the machine.”

“I didn’t beat it,” he said wearily, “I just told the truth.”

“If you say so, Caffrey.” Jones reached for his temporarily discarded handcuffs and secured them back around the prisoner’s wrists. Then he leaned forward across the table, his gaze suddenly even more intense than it had been for the past hour and a half. “One last chance, Neal,” he said gravely, “to tell me what you know. For _Peter_.”

Caffrey kept his own gaze steady, letting the agent see whatever he needed to see, and spoke earnestly. “I swear to you, Clinton, I would tell you if I knew anything. For Peter.”

After a long, considering moment, Jones nodded his head once, decisively, then pushed himself to his feet. “Okay. I’m gonna get back to Diana and see if we can bring him home.”

The CI straightened hopefully. “Can I—”

“No. You’re staying here.”

“You said I wasn’t under arrest,” Neal argued, rising to face the other man.

“I could change that,” Jones threatened, “if you’re going to argue with me. Get the marshals involved and make it official.”

“But—”

“ _No_. Consider yourself a material witness, if it makes you feel better, but you’re not leaving.” Jones took a breath. “I would prefer to leave you here, closer to us, instead of taking you upstairs to a holding cell, but that’s up to you.”

“But I could help!”

“Here or upstairs, Caffrey. Choose.”

Caffrey glowered a few seconds longer, then heaved an angry sigh and plopped back into his chair. “Witnesses aren’t usually restrained,” he grumbled, as Jones turned for the door.

“You’re special.” And then the agent was gone.

“ _Dammit_!” Caffrey pounded his fists onto the tabletop and reminded himself that he was not going to escape.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time moves slowly in the interrogation room while Neal sketches up some clues and some comfort.

* * *

Neal thought it was a testament to his tattered nerves that he’d been alone in the interrogation room again for almost ten minutes before he finally realized that no one had ever searched him or forced him to empty his pockets and surrender his belongings, which meant he still had, among other things, a phone and a paper clip. He shook his head that he could be so dense, but then took a moment to reflect. He knew Jones wouldn’t have simply _forgotten_ something so important, even if the agent’s nerves were likely as tattered as his own, so maybe things weren’t quite as dire as they seemed. It was true that his personal freedom was not his top worry at the moment, but this would all still be easier to deal with if the team didn’t really consider him a genuine threat, and it seemed that maybe, just _maybe_ , they didn’t. He felt a ghost of a smile form at the idea. He knew the recording made things look spectacularly bad, so he was grateful for whatever small amount of faith they retained—even if Jones was being ridiculously overbearing about confinement and the cuffs. But Caffrey could recognize a pissed-off agent who just wanted some control over _something_ , so he pushed the thought aside. On the other hand, he also knew they could also be monitoring his every move right now and hoping he’d do something incriminating that would lead them to Peter, but Neal preferred the first possibility.

Given that he intended to adhere to Jones’ overbearing rules, Caffrey knew there wasn’t a whole lot he could do personally, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t set things in motion. Maneuvering with his bound hands, he massaged the outside of his pant pocket, working his phone up to the opening so he could finally grasp it carefully in front of him. He composed a quick text: _Covers blown, op busted, Peter taken by Colin Prinz. Please check location and any other info. Might need a lawyer later, but Peter first._ He included Prinz’s office address and hit send.

Mozzie’s reply was almost immediate: _On it. You okay? Suspect?_

_I’m fine, Moz. Suspect/witness, in custody. Peter first._

_In custody with a phone? The suits are slipping. Or it’s a trap. Don’t use my name. I’ll keep you updated._

Neal grinned, but it faded quickly. He wanted to be doing more. He thought for a moment, then rose and moved toward the door. He knew suspects were never left here in the interrogation area without someone standing watch in the hallway, and he assumed they weren’t making an exception for him, threat or not. And surely the junior agents that always got stuck with guard duty couldn’t be that difficult to charm. He leaned against the glass door to push it open and slowly stepped into the corridor, his cuffed hands raised in front of him, palms open, as non-threatening as possible. He stopped suddenly as he saw the agent quickly pull a sidearm from its holster and aim it directly at his prisoner’s head. Neal thought he might’ve miscalculated; maybe junior agents believed they had something to prove.

“Whoa, whoa! You don’t need that!” He was still leaning on the open door, and he didn’t know if moving backward into the interrogation room might be considered almost as threatening as moving forward, so he stayed still, and spoke calmly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just thinking about a couple other ideas that might be useful to Agents Jones and Berrigan, but I still need to work some things out. Wondered if you might be able to get me a pencil and some paper, Agent...?”

The young man hesitated, his brown eyes squinting in doubt, before finally saying, “Downing. And I don’t know if that’s allowed, sir.”

Caffrey flashed his most charming smile. “Well, I’ll tell you the truth, Agent Downing, I don’t know if it’s allowed, either, but I might have some ideas that could help find Agent Burke. Like I said, I just need to work out a few details, and it would be really helpful if I could draw it out.”

It took another moment, but Downing finally lowered his weapon, and Neal blew out a relieved breath.

“Look, I’m not trying to get you in any trouble here, and, as you might guess from my current situation, I don’t need any more for myself. So, I’m gonna go back inside, and if you could just check with whoever you need to check with about paper and pencil, I’d appreciate it, okay?”

Downing nodded, so Neal stepped back into the small room, letting the door close behind him, and went directly back to his seat on the far side of the table. He wanted to make sure Downing knew he wasn’t going anywhere. He also took a moment to slip his phone back into his pocket; if the kid was unsure about something to write with, Neal thought a prisoner having a phone might push him over the edge. With nothing else to do, Caffrey leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, letting the morning’s events replay through his mind.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Downing stepped into the interrogation room himself, placing a small stack of copier paper, two pencils, a pen, and a bottle of water onto the tabletop. “Just let me know if you need anything else, Mr. Caffrey,” he said politely.

Caffrey nodded, giving the young man another smile. “Thank you, Agent Downing. But, please, I’m not Mr. Caffrey; it’s just Neal.” He wasn’t particularly surprised when the agent turned and left without responding.

As soon as the agent had departed, Neal snagged one sheet of paper and a pencil and slowly began sketching the layout of Prinz’s office suite, along with what he recalled of the rest of the building. It was awkward work while wearing the cuffs, but he kept at it.

He’d been drawing for only a couple of minutes when his phone buzzed. It buzzed a second notification before he’d managed to work it out of his pocket again. Looking down, he saw a couple of messages from Jones:

_Don’t screw with me, Caffrey._

_Don’t screw with Downing either._

Neal chuckled and sent back a quick reply. _Never. And thanks_ , and then he returned his attention to his drawing.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard the door swing open, but he had a dozen pages spread out across the tabletop like a map, filled with everything he could remember about the area surrounding Prinz’s office. He glanced up to see Jones scowling angrily from the other side of the table, looking pointedly at the handcuffs dangling from Caffrey’s left wrist.

“I thought we agreed you were going to leave those on?” Clinton growled.

Caffrey winced; he definitely was not on his game today. “Yeah, about that,” he offered a small, rueful smile, “I was having a hard time drawing. Sorry.” He quickly reached for the loose bracelet, intending to snap it back around his wrist, but Jones stopped him.

“Why don’t you show me what all this is first?”

“I was wondering how they got Peter out,” Caffrey explained.

“We’ve been wondering that, too,” Jones groused. “We’ve searched all the offices and storefronts in Prinz’s building, but came up empty.” He looked more closely at the CI’s sketches. “This looks like the entire block,” he said incredulously. “Did you do all this from memory?”

“Mostly,” Neal shrugged. “Looked up a couple of photos online for the things I couldn’t quite recall. And it’s two blocks—Prinz’s and the next block over.”

Jones was still staring at the pages, noting the detail, particularly in the notation of each exit point. “This is amazing. I think I’m beginning to understand how you were able to stay ahead of us for so long. Multiple escape routes.” He dropped into a chair next to Caffrey to continue examining the drawings.

Neal gave a slight grin. “Allegedly. But, look,” he slid over the page that showed Prinz’s office diagram, “if you rule out the roof access—which I think you have to do when you’re moving an unconscious person—Prinz had three ways out: front door, which leads to the street where you were with the van; back door out into the alley where a couple of the Harvard crew were watching from a car; and then this service corridor that connects to the rest of the building.”

“Right. And, like I said, we’ve searched the whole place—every office, every storefront, _everything_ that’s connected to that service corridor. There’s no sign of him having been there.”

“Doesn’t matter what you found, because unless the ivy leaguers were sleeping on the job, that’s the way they went out. And judging solely by how quickly Downing out there drew down on me earlier, I’ve decided those junior G-men do not sleep on the job.”

“He _drew_ on you? He must’ve forgotten to mention that detail.”

Caffrey waved it away. “We agree they used this corridor, right? And, realistically, they didn’t go through any of the businesses to get out the front door, so they had to use an exit from the corridor. Now, if you look at the alley,” he pulled another page over to show the agent, “this delivery dock here is built out enough that someone could conceivably come out one of these three back doors and not be seen by the agents at the other end of the alley.” He marked an X on each indicated exit point. “Any of the exits back on the other side, or too far past the dock, our guys would’ve seen ‘em come out. But, even to use these three, it would only work if they had a car waiting right beside the doorway; they wouldn’t be able to walk out into the alleyway at all without risking being seen.”

“The agents don’t recall any vehicles at all being in the alley while we were there, but there are some cameras with an angle back there,” Jones told him. “The footage we’ve seen doesn’t show anything like that, but we’re still waiting on some of them.”

Neal nodded. “Good. It’s definitely possible, but I think he went out on the other side. This café here,” he tapped the final space on the drawing, “has an exit into the alley, but I’m also pretty sure it has an exit out onto the side street.” He drew a big circle around the location.

“How can you possibly know that?” Clinton demanded.

“Multiple escape routes,” Caffrey reminded him. “If I’m going in a place, I like to know how I can get out. It’s habitual. And restaurants usually have multiple entry points to allow for deliveries, customer take out, what have you. Anyway, if I were going, that’s the way I’d do it. We didn’t have anyone stationed there, and it opens up an entire world of options. If they put Peter in a car here, the agents in back wouldn’t have had a hope of seeing him. And then they could have taken him anywhere.” Neal tried to simply present the information factually, even though the idea was horrifying in its possibilities. “But,” he said firmly, dragging his mind back from the edge, “I don’t think they did.”

“Yeah, the time is a big factor.”

“Exactly,” Neal agreed. “They didn’t have much of it. I mean, you’ve got a window of, what? Ten or eleven minutes?”

“Nine minutes fifty-three seconds,” Jones said.

“Not even ten minutes. Not a lot of time.” He dragged over one of his other pages. “This is the block across the street from that side door, directly west. I think they took him into one of these buildings. And I think you should start with these two office suites.” Caffrey drew some more Xs.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” the agent directed.

“I’m still thinking about Peter’s response when he woke up,” Caffrey explained. “I can’t shake the feeling that nothing about that sounded like he thought he’d been moved. I think they moved him across the street into another office that looked just like Prinz’s, maybe hoping just to buy a little bit more time to get him safely out of the area, or maybe thinking that would help sell him on their ridiculous accusations against me, or whatever. Hell, I don’t know what they were thinking, but I think that’s what they did, and I think these two are the most likely to fit the bill. I looked them up, and they were built by the same developer, are handled by the same property management company that handles Prinz’s office, and online photos look like they were staged similarly as well.” He pushed the paper over toward Jones. “Of course, I really do think they likely moved him again pretty quickly afterward, but maybe if you can find their jumping-off point, you’ll find a lead to wherever they are now.”

Jones did not seem convinced. “I’d have to double-check with Diana to be sure about the exit onto the side street, but even if it’s there, what you’re describing seems . . . extreme.”

“Does it?” the younger man asked with a shrug. “I mean, to me, it just seems like a scam, and not even a particularly inspired one. Of course, it’s hard to figure too much without being sure what they’re after.” He shrugged again. “I could be way off base, but I wish you’d at least check it out.”

Jones considered him carefully before asking quietly, “You’re really not involved in this?”

Caffrey couldn’t even be offended anymore. “I’m really not.”

The agent considered a moment longer then nodded. “Yeah, we’ll check it out.” Seeming to recognize the question about to be posed, he held up a forestalling hand. “And, no, you still can’t go. You’re gonna be here until we get to the bottom of this.”

Neal had opened his mouth to argue when he heard an angry voice out in the corridor. It only took a couple seconds to recognize the voice as Elizabeth Burke, which made him realize he really should’ve called her. No, he definitely was not on his game today.

Jones looked surprised, and maybe a little worried. “Ah, Caffrey, you should know—” But that was as far as he got before the door swung open.

Caffrey rose to his feet as Elizabeth strode angrily into the room. “Eliz—” The hot flesh of her open palm across his cheek caught him off guard.

“Neal Caffrey, you tell me where my husband is!” Her blue eyes were clouded with a kind of anger and fear that had never before been directed at the con man.

“Elizabeth!” Neal’s voice was choked with sudden emotion. “I don’t know. _Honestly_.” 

Clinton tried to break in. “Elizabeth—” but she ignored him.

“They told me, Neal; they told me what happened, so don’t you lie to me!”

He was prepared for her slap the next time and caught her wrist before she could reach him, suddenly very glad Jones hadn’t made him return the bracelet to his drawing hand. Peripherally, Neal saw Jones tense as he grabbed the woman, but he could only hope the agent still understood that he posed no threat. “Elizabeth . . . El. I wouldn’t do this, you know that.” Neal used his grip to pull her closer, trapping her hand between them and wrapping his other arm around her. “I would never hurt him, El,” he whispered as he held her close. “Or you. _Never_.”

And finally, he felt her shoulders droop as her anger seemed to disappear. Then she was shaking, her face buried in his chest. “Oh, Neal, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” she cried. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay.” Neal hesitated, but then stroked her hair. It was a familiarity he wouldn’t normally presume, but today obviously wasn’t normal. “I know you’re scared,” he whispered to her, “but we’ll find him. Peter is going to be okay; I promise.” He released her wrist and let his arms encircle her fully, holding her tight until she could get herself together.

After a couple of minutes, Jones spoke gently. “Elizabeth, why don’t I have someone drive you home?”

El sucked in a deep breath, raised her head enough to scrub at her tears, then tilted her neck to look up into Neal’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” she repeated softly.

He gave her a small, sincere smile. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” he answered, matching her tone. “But you _should_ let someone take you home. There’s nothing you can do here.”

“Couldn’t I stay here with you?”

That surprised Caffrey. “Oh, well . . .”

Elizabeth flushed when she heard the hesitation and tried to push away from him. “I’m sorry. I mean, of course, I just accused you—”

“Elizabeth.” Neal’s firm tone broke through the beginnings of her rambling, and he still held her, preventing her from pulling away. “That’s not why,” he assured her. “I told you, nothing to apologize for.” He managed a wry grin. “But the truth is, it’s not up to me. I’m still technically a prisoner here, so as much as I’d love to have your company . . .”

El did pull away then and whirled to face Jones. “Clinton, you’re not seriously still keeping him in custody?” There was no indication that less than five minutes earlier, she’d been ready to accept that—and much worse—for the man she thought had betrayed her husband.

“I am,” the agent replied without any hint of apology. “We don’t even have the lab results back yet, much less have a handle on everything that took place this morning. But,” he hurried on as Elizabeth drew in a breath and seemed ready to launch an attack, “I don’t have any problem with you staying here with Neal if that’s what you’d like to do.”

And then Elizabeth smiled, eyes full of relief. “Yes, thank you, I’d like that very much.” She heaved another breath and swiped her hands across her face. “I’m a mess. I’m just going to go freshen up and grab a cup of coffee, then I’ll just wait here. Thank you.” She flashed a grateful look at Neal and vanished out the door.

“Sorry about that,” Jones said as soon as she was gone. “I thought she was going to head home.”

“Yeah.” Caffrey cast an accusing glance at the agent. “Did you have to tell her you suspected me of being involved?”

“Technically, Hughes did that, but, yeah, I think we had to tell her it was a possibility. You want us to lie?”

“Of course not,” Neal answered sullenly, wondering why people could never understand that there was an almost limitless number of options between the truth and a lie. “But thank you for letting her stay here. I’m sure she doesn’t want to be sitting at home alone right now.”

Jones nodded somberly. They all knew how difficult this must be for Elizabeth. “Of course, whatever’s easiest for her.

“And, listen, I also wanted to tell you something else kind of weird. All that silence on the recordings? Not really silence at all; it’s some kind of white noise or something. When the techs analyzed the actual recording from your pen instead of the one we captured from your broadcast, they were able to isolate it and tell the difference.”

“What is that all about?” Caffrey asked, not even understanding how that fit in.

“Dunno. Just another piece of proof that they planned this carefully, taking special care to thwart the equipment they knew you’d have.”

“You mean another piece of proof that makes me look even guiltier.”

“We don’t get to pick the evidence,” Jones said pragmatically. He leaned over and snatched up the last page from Caffrey’s sketches. “All right, I need to get back to my desk; still have a bunch of things to run down, and I’ll make sure Diana checks out these places. You need anything before I go?”

“I don’t think so.”

“All right, give me your hand.”

The young man clenched his jaw, determined not to complain, and offered his wrists.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Jones said as he pushed Caffrey’s free hand away. He unlocked the remaining bracelet and slipped the cuffs into his jacket. “And, seriously, Neal, _don’t_ be an idiot. You’re still in custody, you understand? You stay right here. Just keep Elizabeth company.”

“I got it,” Caffrey grinned. “Nothing idiotic.” He let the grin fade into something more sincere. “Thank you. Really.”

“Just don’t make me regret it,” Jones warned, but the directive sounded like it came more from habit than actual menace, and Caffrey was still smiling as the agent hurried out.

* * *

“You really drew all this just from going there a few times?” Elizabeth was clearly impressed.

“I see floorplans,” Neal told her, “exit strategies. Occupational hazard. And sketching it is just my way of thinking out loud; it helps me focus.”

“Do you think . . . you think they’ll find him in one of those places you drew?”

“I think they might find more clues,” Caffrey told her slowly, as he gathered his pages together and pushed them away from Elizabeth, “but I’m really not sure.”

El’s eyes glistened with tears again as she seemed to understand what Neal was trying not to say, but she did her best to blink them away. “Peter’s team is the best,” she said confidently, “they’ll find him.”

“They will,” Neal assured her. “He taught them everything they know, right?”

“Right.” She managed a weak smile. “I appreciate what you’ve done, too, you know.”

“ _Me_?” Caffrey was suddenly bitter. “I haven’t done _anything_. If I could’ve put the pieces together even sixty seconds earlier, we might not be in this nightmare. And now they won’t even let me—” He stopped, took a breath, plastered on a smile. “But you know what? If they hadn’t lost their minds and benched me for the day, I wouldn’t be able to stay here with you right now, so I’m calling it a win.”

Neal could tell she didn’t particularly believe his redirection, but he appreciated her not calling him on it. Instead, El just gave his hand a couple of pats, then swiveled out of her chair. She stalked over to the door, back to the other side of the room, and then settled into a pattern, back and forth. “They should make these rooms bigger,” she complained in a suddenly mock-vicious tone. “It’s cruel and unusual.” She almost sounded like Mozzie.

That pulled a genuine grin from Caffrey, which he thought might’ve been her intention. “It’s positively palatial compared to the holding cell they threatened me with. Besides, don’t you know that the feds are big believers in intimidation through interior design? Early claustrophobia is one of their staples, and pacing will really only make it worse. But at least here you can see out, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

She laughed slightly. “Forgot you were the voice of experience.”

He threw her a quick wink, then scooted closer to the table, grabbing a blank sheet of paper and a pencil. He began sketching as she stopped her pacing and stared at the outside view. He actually thought that really might be the cruel part of the equation—the glass wall of the interrogation room looked out into the hallway, which, in turn, offered a fairly dramatic view of the Manhattan skyline, including the Empire State Building. The fifty feet or so—not to mention the twenty stories below— that separated a prisoner from the outside world gave the illusion that freedom was within your grasp while simultaneously separating you from it. For himself, it was easier not to look outside. But for the moment, he gazed that direction, studying the woman as she stared at . . . well, honestly, he hated to think what it was she was seeing in her mind’s eye, but he felt certain it wasn’t the skyline. He turned his attention back to his drawing. He didn’t really need to see her to recreate her simple beauty on the page in front of him.

He drew quickly, first nothing more than a rough outline, then filling in the details, both the ones he could see and the ones he imagined. A curve here, some shading there, accentuating the one eye visible as her head tilted in not-quite-profile, the eye that was usually so full of laughter and love, but now was consumed by far away fear. But he was drawing his image of her, not the real woman standing at the glass prison wall giving the illusion of freedom. He would not memorialize the wife who feared she would never see her husband again, because Neal Caffrey refused to believe that was possible. Peter Burke would come back to her; Peter would come back to them all. And his hand flew across the paper, making it so.

“Oh my God, Neal, that’s beautiful!”

Elizabeth was somehow suddenly standing at his side, eyes wide and brimming with new tears, one hand covering her mouth in surprise, the other resting lightly on his shoulder as she watched him complete the portrait.

He blushed slightly at her response as he put the finishing touches on the sketch of the image in his mind—Peter with his arm around his wife, turned just slightly toward her and she toward him, their eyes only for each other, as they ignored the beauty of the Manhattan skyline before them.

He smiled almost shyly at her. “It’s for you. He’s coming home, El, I know it; and once he’s here, I hope you can maybe forget about how scared you are right now and only remember the good part.”

And then her tears were falling in earnest, but she managed a smile as she threw her arms briefly around his neck, and then sank into a chair, never taking her eyes from the portrait.

* * *

Caffrey answered his phone quickly, anxious for news. “Hey, Jones.”

The response from the other end was terse. “If Elizabeth is still with you, I need you to do your Caffrey thing and not give anything away, okay?”

Neal didn’t like the sound of that. He adjusted the volume down on his phone to make sure Jones wouldn’t be overheard. “Yeah, we’re just playing silly games. We might need more paper soon, but we’re okay.”

“Think carefully: when you were with Prinz, did you ever see or hear anything that made you think he was involved in anything more than the cash and passports?”

“Nah, pretty routine forger, it seems. Why?”

“You were right about the office across the street; it looks like they had him there for at least a while. And you can tell Elizabeth that much, by the way. We found his phone, destroyed, restraints on a chair, not much else so far. And, listen, there’s **_no_** blood or anything along those lines. No reason for you to think the worst, okay?”

Until he heard the words, Neal hadn’t even fully realized he’d been trying to figure out how to ask a question he didn’t want to be answered. He closed his eyes briefly and let the relief flood over him. “Okay.” He knew it was a small victory, but right now, he’d take all the wins he could get. He dragged his attention back to what Jones was saying.

“We’re still processing the scene, but one of the things we found is an appointment book, and when we ran the names, a few of them popped with flags from the Organized Crime group.”

Neal could feel his fingers tightening around the phone as his heart rate increased, and every bit of the relief he’d felt disappeared. He forced himself to relax, and he shot a goofy grimace at Elizabeth while he pointed at the phone like Jones was crazy. She was watching him closely, waiting impatiently for any information, but at least she grinned a little at his dramatic pantomime. He forced his voice to remain calm, natural. “No, we never saw anything like that.”

“Okay,” Jones said, “we’ll keep looking. I’m on my way up to get more specifics from Ruiz, but the names we got are pretty far-ranging—drugs, weapons, trafficking, you name it. And of course, the counterfeit money and passports.”

“That’s a lot,” Neal said, and then immediately regretted the words when he saw Elizabeth’s mouth twist into a confused scowl. He tried to cover. “But that’s what the Harvard crew is for, right? All the grunt paperwork?”

The agent’s grin could be heard over the phone. “Nice save, though I’m kind of relieved to see the great Neal Caffrey isn’t perfect. But, seriously, try not to worry too much; we don’t know if this is related to Peter at all. Keep Elizabeth focused on the positives, okay? And let her know that no one is giving up.”

“Okay, I will.” Neal found himself grateful for the reassurance, even if most of it was likely delivered for El’s sake; he’d discovered that sitting on the sidelines was a sure-fire way of conjuring up an awful lot of worst-case scenarios. “Oh, and, hey, any word on the lab results yet?”

“Nothing yet,” Jones told him, “but it’s barely even been four hours. We’re probably just now getting to the point where it might even be _possible_ to have results.”

“I guess,” Caffrey agreed unhappily. “But I gotta tell you, four hours feels a lot longer in this room.”

But if Neal was looking for any sort of sympathy, he didn’t get it from Jones. “Just make sure you behave yourself, Caffrey, and I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything.” And then the line was closed.

“Well?” Elizabeth blurted as soon as he removed the phone from his ear.

He took her hands in his and spoke gently, wishing he had more hope to offer her. “In the office across the street, they could tell that Peter had been held there for a while. But,” he assured her quickly as her eyes widened fearfully, “they did not find _any_ signs that he’d been hurt. It looks like they’ve just moved him somewhere else now. It’s a business office, you know, so there are a ton of things in there for them to catalog and sort through to see if or how it’s related to Peter, so they don’t really have a whole lot of details right now. But you know it’s all hands on deck, and Jones said to tell you that _no_ _one_ is giving up.”

El managed a tiny smile. “I know they won’t give up,” she said, “but do you believe the rest of it? Did he seem like he was keeping anything from you?”

Matching her smile, Caffrey said, “I’m pretty sure he’s given up on the idea that I’m any sort of conspirator here and would’ve told me anything important.”

She seemed to consider that, then finally nodded her head. Grabbing her discarded pencil, she pushed a piece of paper back toward him. “Dots and boxes clearly isn’t your game, but I’ll try not to beat you so bad this time.”

Neal let himself chuckle as he drew his next line, trying hard not to think about the types of people chased by Organized Crime and what those people could possibly want with Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback on the first chapter, and for all of you who are reading along with Neal stuck in his predicament.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal gets a visit from his attorney, and finally gets a short change of scenery.

Caffrey thought they really might have to send for more paper. They’d played the dot game and word square, killed some time with pointless tic tac toe, even some simple code-busting game Mozzie had taught him years ago that the man swore was called ‘bulls and cows,’ though Neal had never really understood why. He’d drawn dozens of doodles, all the subjects suggested by El, each one sillier than the last; he’d even taken a turn at some caricatures of the White Collar agents, though he’d never been a big fan of that style of portraiture. But he had made it his mission to take Elizabeth’s mind off her worries, and he was glad to see her laugh. He was working on a sketch of Satchmo when they heard a very distinct voice coming from the corridor.

“Look, tin man, this isn’t a debate. Either my client is allowed to go free, or he’s entitled to consultation with his attorney. I’ve already got a writ of habeas corpus right here, and I’m not afraid to use it!”

El looked up at Neal and giggled. “Your attorney?”

Grinning, Neal shrugged. “He’s surprisingly effective.”

Then, as if on cue, Mozzie was coming through the door, dapper in his tweed jacket and bowtie, but looking wide-eyed and typically agitated, followed by a flustered Agent Downing.

“Look, sir, I just need to check your briefcase,” the agent said apologetically.

“I was already subjected to your fascist, cancer-causing checkpoint downstairs, Baby Suit; you’re not getting anything else from me!”

Caffrey didn’t rise, but held an appeasing hand toward the agent and tried not to laugh. “Mozzie. Just open the case, please.”

It took a couple of seconds, but Mozzie huffed out an overly dramatic sigh, muttered, “Police state,” under his breath, then slammed the briefcase onto the tabletop and opened the lid. He shuffled the papers around, demonstrating the case contained nothing dangerous. “You were expecting weapons, I suppose? I’m not the one working for the subsidiary of the military-industrial complex.”

Apparently satisfied, Downing just mumbled, “Thank you,” and hurried back to his post.

“Mozzie, you sure know how to make an entrance,” Elizabeth laughed. 

“Thank you for noticing, Mrs. Suit.” But then the little man grew more serious. “How are you doing, Elizabeth?”

She nodded, and the laughter drained from her face. “I’m okay,” she told him. “You know, mostly.” She mustered another small smile and tipped her chin toward the man at her side. “Your client has been very helpful.”

“He’s always been a people person.” Then Moz walked back to the door, pushed it open, and cast a pointed look at the young woman. “Unfortunately, Mrs. Suit, I am going to need to speak with him in private, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Neal immediately objected. “Mozzie, don’t get carried away. She can stay.”

“No, Neal, she can’t.” Mozzie was firm, and didn’t even back down from the confused disappointment written on Elizabeth’s face. “I am sorry, El, but we’ll waive our attorney-client privilege if we talk with you here, and I’m not willing to let him do that.”

Caffrey wanted to try again. “Moz—” but he broke off when he recognized the stubborn glint in his friend’s eyes. He swiveled back to Elizabeth, still sitting beside him, looking suddenly lost. “El...”

She sucked in a shaky breath. “No, I understand. Maybe—we were talking about lunch. Maybe I could go downstairs and get us some sandwiches, and then I could come back?”

Neal hated to see her like this, with her terror just barely hidden beneath her surface of control. He knew something about that, and knew there weren’t too many people she’d be comfortable enough with to let the façade drop. And though he was heartened that he could be one of those people for her, he still hated to see her this way. Giving her hand a quick squeeze, he offered reassurance, “Of course you can come back; that would be perfect.” He glared over at his attorney. “Right, Moz?”

“Absolutely.”

Mozzie was still holding the door, and as El reached him, he whispered, “I really am sorry, Mrs. Suit. It won’t take long.” That seemed to be all she needed, as she flashed a smile and quickly kissed his cheek. “I’ll be back soon.”

“What the hell, Mozzie?” Caffrey snapped as soon as Elizabeth had disappeared out of sight of the glass wall. “You know how hard this is for her.”

“Of course I know,” the older man said, moving to claim a chair at the table, “that’s why I needed her to leave so we could talk.”

Neal relaxed a little; it was always hard to stay mad at Mozzie when most of his irritating behavior came from reasonably good intentions. But then he realized his attorney was still on a rant.

“But, seriously, Neal, what I said about the privilege was true, too. I don’t know what’s going on here with you and these suits, but it might be important that we stick to at least some of the rules on this one, okay? I’m assuming they’ve already interrogated you?”

“Yeah. And polygraph.”

“You took a _polygraph_? Without talking to me first?”

“Couldn’t be helped, Mozzie. I didn’t want them to distrust me more than they already do.”

“No more interrogations without counsel,” Moz said firmly. “I’d like to make sure you don’t end up needing to retain someone with more actual trial experience.”

“The good news on that front is I may not even need a lawyer anymore.”

“Are you free to leave?”

“Not yet.”

“Then you still need a lawyer,” Mozzie insisted. “Especially—and I’m sorry to bring it up—but especially if the suit doesn’t make it home.”

The color drained from Caffrey’s face, and he tried to swallow against the sudden dryness in his throat. “Moz, don’t . . .”

“Okay, okay, sorry. I’m just pointing out that you can’t afford to be complacent. No matter what you think has changed in the past few hours, if they’re still holding you, then they still suspect you.”

Neal nodded slowly and tried to banish the thoughts his attorney had just inflicted. “All right. But I’m sure you didn’t send Elizabeth away just to tell me that.” Though he was glad the woman hadn’t been there to hear it.

“No. I’ve got a name; Milo Vikander mean anything to you?”

“No. Who is he?”

“Someone I’m glad you don’t know,” Mozzie told him bluntly. “Specializes in running guns and drugs, and lots of ‘em. Doesn’t take kindly to people who “cross” him”—Moz made air quotes around the word, “and that apparently means anyone who’s even remotely connected to anything that goes wrong.”

“Sounds like a real winner,” Caffrey agreed, “but what does he have to do with Peter?”

“He’s recently begun doing business with your guy, Prinz. On the surface, it looks like a strange marriage because Prinz has always been pretty low-key and non-violent, but it seems he was looking to expand his portfolio, and Milo needed easy access to travel documents for his couriers. Somehow, they made it work. Or they did, until the feds started sniffing around Prinz.”

Neal was slowly shaking his head, feeling the dread descend on him, and suddenly infinitely more relieved Moz had sent Elizabeth away. Sometimes the little guy was surprisingly perceptive. “Jones found some names that the Organized Crime guys were working on; thought they might be connected to Prinz somehow. But what’s the angle? Milo is trying to take out Prinz, and Peter is just collateral damage? I’m not going to accept that! Why would they have taken him and not just killed us both on the spot?”

“I’m just the messenger,” Moz reminded him, “but I do fear the suit is no longer dealing with his usual white-collar variety bad guys.”

Caffrey was already dialing his phone, then waited impatiently for Jones to answer. He’d finally risen from his seat and given in to the need to move. That was another thing he was glad El wasn’t here to witness. “Dammit! Voicemail.” He waited again, then finally said, “It’s Neal. Check Milo Vikander. Call me.” He hung up and immediately sent a text to both Jones and Diana with the same information.

“Any chance you know where to find him?” Neal asked, turning back to face the older man.

“I wouldn’t bury the lead like that; for whatever reason, I know you want to get your suit back.” He blinked rapidly as Neal fixed him with a too-knowing look, then finally sighed. “Okay, I want him back, too. But I’ll deny I ever said it!”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Caffrey smirked at him. And then, “I really do appreciate your help, Moz,” he said sincerely. Then all the pent-up energy and frustration and fear forced his feet into motion again, fists clenched helplessly at his side as he traversed the small room.

“Anything for you, _mon frère_ , of course.” Mozzie’s brow furrowed and his mouth dipped into a frown as he watched his young friend. “I haven’t given up on a location, you know; I’ve still got some feelers out.”

Neal halted his pacing and turned to stare out the window toward the skyline, then remembered anew why he’d prefer a solid wall. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass wall, closed his eyes. He reminded himself that there really was nothing he could personally do to find Peter, not right now; reminded himself that Elizabeth needed him here; and reminded himself that slipping out of this building would cause more problems than it would solve. He knew it was all true, but it was getting harder to believe as the day wore on.

“It looks like some kind of street artist exploded in here,” he heard Mozzie saying behind him. “Are you planning to set up an easel in the park when the suits finally spring you?”

Neal felt a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. Moz always could pull him back from the edge. He turned away from the window before opening his eyes, then made his way back to the table. “It passes the time,” he said, not quite finding the bantering tone he was after, “and El likes it.”

Mozzie nodded, examined one of the pages more closely, then lowered himself into one of the chairs at the table. “But in the future, I’d appreciate it if you could make me look a little more John McClane and a little less Mr. Magoo.”

“Noted.” After a moment, Neal slid back into his own seat, facing away from the window, and directed his nervous energy back to doodling. Then his blue eyes, mostly hidden beneath eyelashes, sneaked a sideways glance toward the other man. “Thanks.” Mozzie gave only a single nod, then returned to offering commentary on the scattered drawings.

When Elizabeth opened the door ten minutes later, Neal was laughing while his eyes widened in horror. “Mozzie! Are you trying to get me dropped in a hole I’ll never come out of? I mean, forget supermax; I think she might find a literal dungeon!”

Ignoring the outrage, Moz waved El into the room. “Welcome back, Mrs. Suit. You’re just in time for an extreme overreaction.”

“Who are you so afraid of, Neal?” El asked as she placed the sack of food on the table. “What’s going on?”

Caffrey grinned and gestured at Mozzie to go ahead with the story.

“I merely suggested,” Moz said innocently, “that perhaps for his next group of sketches, he could make the suits into a superhero motif.”

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow in consideration, then smiled. “I wouldn’t object to Peter as Superman.”

“Don’t encourage him, Elizabeth,” Neal protested, “he hasn’t told you the part yet where I have to risk my life for his entertainment.”

Passing out sandwiches, bags of chips, and bottled drinks, Elizabeth continued to look between them curiously. “Well, one of you needs to tell me.” She sat down and waited expectantly.

“I think the lady suit—”

“Diana,” Neal interjected so El would fully understand.

“Yes, the _lady suit_ , I believe she would be well-styled as Wonder Woman.”

“Mozzie!” Elizabeth exclaimed with a laugh. “That is the worst legal advice I’ve ever heard.”

Feeling vindicated, Neal winked at his friends and began to unwrap his sandwich.

* * *

“ _You’re_ the lawyer?” Agent Jones stood in the doorway of the interrogation room, frowning at Mozzie.

“Would you like to see my credentials, Junior Suit?”

Jones turned the frown on Caffrey. “I thought I told you not to be screwing around?”

Neal shrugged, unrepentant. “Hey, he’s legit, you can ask Pe—” His face first flushed, screwing up into agonized realization of what he’d almost said, then almost as quickly paled as he hitched in a shaky breath. Apparently, Elizabeth wasn’t the only one barely holding things together. He closed his eyes for a second to regroup, then tried a more straightforward response. “He really is my attorney, Jones.”

The agent didn’t look convinced, but apparently, he decided it wasn’t important. “Never mind. Caffrey, I need you to come with me for a minute.” The tone didn’t leave room for argument, and Neal was already rising from his seat, but almost simultaneous arguments came from the other two anyway.

“My client will not be interrogated again without counsel.” “Clinton, don’t keep secrets; tell me what’s going on.”

Neal tried to deal with the part he could control. “Moz, it’s okay. I’ll—”

“No, Neal, it’s _not_ okay. What did we just talk about earlier?”

“ _Mozzie_.” Neal knew he would never be able to make the man understand why he trusted these agents, but he felt sure whatever Jones wanted to talk about, the requested privacy was more about protecting El than implicating Neal. Not that he could say that out loud, of course, so he had to rely on long years of friendship. He let his eyes rest on Mozzie’s. “I remember what you said. This isn’t about that. It’s okay.”

And after a long few seconds of silent communication, Moz backed down. “Okay. I trust you’ll be able to recognize when you should keep your mouth shut.”

Neal nodded and gave him a warm smile, then tried again to comply with Jones’ directive, only to have Elizabeth grab his arm. Then she was on her feet, standing between the CI and the agent, determination written on her face. “Clinton Jones,” she said firmly, “what is it you are not telling me?”

Standing behind her, Caffrey just shrugged at Jones. The agent was on his own with this decision, but he tried to convey that he’d go along with whatever Jones thought best.

“Elizabeth,” Jones’ voice was calm and sincere, “I need Caffrey to review some surveillance videos and reports for me, fill in a few details from when he was undercover. Even if it wasn’t confidential information, trust me, it’s nothing you’d be interested in. But don’t worry, Diana still has the crew out in the field running down leads; I just need to try to put a few pieces together here from all the intelligence we’ve gathered. As soon as we know anything more about Peter, I swear I will let you know.”

Neal thought the response sounded truthful enough to convince Elizabeth—even truthful enough to make him wonder briefly if this excursion would be closer to an interrogation than he’d imagined—and she didn’t object further, so he stepped around the woman to leave with Jones. “I’ll try not to be long,” he assured her, “and Mozzie . . .” He looked the question at the other man.

“I’ll be here,” Moz confirmed. “Just remember, nobody grills my client without an attorney.”

Jones didn’t bother to answer, just grabbed Caffrey’s elbow and steered him out of the room.

As soon as they were around the corner away from the interrogation room, Neal wanted answers. “So, what’s really—”

“Wait.” Jones was still guiding him quickly through the halls, then through the bullpen—where Neal couldn’t help but notice he was still getting a lot of death glares—and up the stairs directly into the ASAC’s office. Jones closed the door behind them, pointed Caffrey to the visitor chair farthest from the door, and directed, “Sit,” before claiming the other chair for himself.

“I’m not a dog,” Caffrey muttered, but he sat. He waited silently while Reese Hughes sized him up. God, he’d been stared at a lot today. Finally, he was at the end of his patience. “I should just wear a sign around my neck: I DIDN’T DO IT.” He’d spit out the words bitterly, but then added a belated, “ _Sir_.”

Hughes gave him a grim smile. “Tell us about this Vikander. Is he someone you’d seen meeting with Prinz? Did you meet him at some point undercover? What do you know about his connection to Prinz?”

The CI let a beat pass before he tried to answer. He was willing to convince them all, one by one, of his innocence if that’s what it was going to take, but it was becoming exhausting. “I think you know I never met him during the op, since you’ve got every minute of every meeting recorded, and I’ve filled out enough reports on those meetings to kill a tree. So, what you obviously want to know is if I met him some _other_ time and made some kind of backdoor deal to secure my freedom. And the answer to all of it is _no_ , just like it’s been all day long. No meetings, no plans, no deals. And, honestly, it’s getting hard to know which is worse: that you think I would betray you—betray _Peter_ —like this, or that I would do such a phenomenally bad job of it that I not only don’t manage to escape but end up under lock and key as your prime suspect. It’s insulting, no matter how you look at it.”

“You through?” Hughes asked blandly.

And though he still felt the anger humming through him, the sure certainty that Peter didn’t have the time they were wasting let Neal drop his eyes and nod his head instead of continuing to antagonize his boss. “Yeah, sorry.”

“We’ve been coordinating with Organized Crime, and they don’t show any direct link between Prinz and Vikander, but a couple of the names we’d been checking earlier could possibly be his couriers. There are some thin lines there that _might_ tie them together. Of course, we’re following it up, just in case. But what I need to know is how you connected Vikander with this mess? And maybe try it without the righteous indignation this time.”

Caffrey felt his face flush and worked hard to keep the attitude out of his voice. “I don’t have a lot, but I’m not surprised to hear you might not even have that much. I’ve told Peter before: I rely on rumor a lot more than you guys do. Anyway, my attorney got a line on him, found out Vikander and Prinz started working together not long ago. Seems Prinz wanted to branch out, and Vikander needed lots of travel papers for couriers. Also says the guy is dangerous; thinks it’s possible that whatever he might want with Peter, at least part of his end game is to get rid of Prinz. That’s honestly all I know.”

“Your attorney? I didn’t realize we’d gotten quite that formal yet.”

Neal shifted slightly. He didn’t care much for the _yet_. “However you want to look at it, I’m in custody; thought I might need someone on my side.”

“It’s the little guy,” Jones clarified, “Haversham.”

Caffrey raised an eyebrow at that. He hadn’t even realized Hughes knew anything at all about ‘Dante Haversham,’ though he supposed the man might’ve shown up in a report or two, even though Neal himself had always carefully glossed over any mention of his friend’s involvement in the Bureau’s business. But more surprising was the barest wink that Jones directed his way, and the tiny twitch of an upturned lip. It calmed him more than he would’ve expected, so when Hughes snapped out, “Haversham is your _attorney_?” Neal had a patented grin waiting for him.

“He’s a man of many talents.”

“I’d agree with that, sir,” Jones chimed in, “from the limited dealings we’ve had with the guy.”

Caffrey had sobered quickly. “And one of those talents is having enough contacts to find out a lot of things. You can trust his information, even if it might not have quite the pedigree you’re accustomed to.”

Hughes nodded somberly. “Like I said, we’re following up. Ruiz is pulling all the intelligence they have on Vikander, and INTERPOL is sending over what they have. Organized Crime has a team on their way to his only known address, though they believe he abandoned it a month or more ago. Something will turn up somewhere.”

“Then, you _believe_ me?” Neal hadn’t intended to blurt out the surprised question, but there it was.

“Is there a reason I _shouldn’t_ believe you?”

“No, sir,” Caffrey answered quickly, and even managed to refrain from pointing out that the simple truth hadn’t changed for the past five hours.

Hughes glanced over at his agent. “Jones, could you give us a minute?”

“Absolutely.” As Clinton rose from his chair, he swung himself close to Caffrey and said in a low voice, “Remember the rules,” then straightened completely, nodded at Hughes, and slipped from the office, closing the door behind him.

Neal sat silently, forcing down the unease. He rarely spent time alone with the ASAC, and when he did, he was almost always in some kind of trouble. The way the man was staring again—silent, rubbing absently at his furrowed brow like he was trying to solve a puzzle—made him think that pattern was likely to hold.

“What are the rules?” the older man finally asked.

Without pause, Caffrey dutifully recited the list that had developed throughout the day. “Don’t screw with anybody; don’t be an idiot; behave.”

Reese barked out a short, harsh laugh. “Jones always did have a way of cutting to the heart of the matter.”

“Yes, sir,” Caffrey answered with a small, uncertain grin.

“And have you been? Remembering the rules, I mean?”

“Of course. I’m not looking to distract any resources today.” His expression grew worried. “Has Jones said different?”

It took a minute, but Hughes finally shook his head. “Last couple hours or so, he’s been your biggest defender.” Neal’s eyes widened, but he didn’t comment. “You’re surprised? To tell you the truth, I was, too. That Prinz recording seems pretty damning. And, after the explosion, and you being back in prison again while that was sorted out . . . well, let’s just say it’s not hard to believe you might not be Peter’s biggest fan these days.”

“None of that was Peter’s fault,” Neal answered quietly. “Besides, he literally saved my life.”

“Not too long ago, I wasn’t entirely sure you thought that was a good thing.”

Caffrey shrugged and didn’t try to deny it. “Things change.”

“They do. That’s why part of my job today has been to decide if they’ve changed enough for you to consider Agent Burke an acceptable loss in exchange for an escape plan.”

“They haven’t,” Caffrey assured him. “They _wouldn’t_.” He paused, then added, “I passed your polygraph. And apparently the less official Clinton Jones version, too. I’ve been here all day, answering your questions, giving you any information I had. And I’ve said from the beginning: toss me in a cell if you think I’m planning something. I’m not thrilled with being trapped in an interrogation room, and I’d _rather_ be helping with the search somehow, but if I’m actually impeding it in any way, lock me up for real. There is literally _nothing_ more important to me right now than getting Peter back safely, and no matter how many times or how many ways you ask these questions, that answer’s never going to change.”

“You know,” Hughes said thoughtfully, “the thing that most works against you—even more than the recording—is that your impassioned speech would sound just as sincere even if every word were a lie.”

Visibly deflated, Neal said bleakly, “I know that. Believe me, I know.”

The ASAC let a beat pass, then said, “So what about this Haversham guy? Think he can come up with any more _rumors_ on Vikander?”

Grateful to be moving past the all the self-analysis, Neal shrugged. “Too soon to know. Said he’s got some feelers out. Of course, I’ll let you know the minute anything else turns up.” Then there was more silence while Neal wondered just what the hell Hughes was thinking. But he was surprised by the next question.

“How’s Elizabeth doing?”

 _Probably better than me_ , he thought fleetingly. “She’s okay. Scared, you know, but okay. I really do appreciate you guys letting us wait this out together.”

“We didn’t do it for you.”

“I know, but thank you anyway.” And then, “Sir, can I ask you something?”

Hughes seemed uncertain, but he nodded. “Sure.”

Neal met the older man’s eyes. “Do you think he’s gonna be okay?” He forced himself to hold the gaze steady, wanting to judge the man’s candor, but the hesitation from Hughes sent a new fear to his heart.

Reese ultimately settled for a sincere, “I hope so.”

“Me, too.” And though he knew even that simple statement was being weighed against his entire history, Neal Caffrey had never meant anything more.

* * *

They’d talked for a while more, and Neal hoped he’d given the man reason enough to at least have _some_ doubt about that damnable recording, though he knew that final decision had not yet been made. Now the ASAC was going to personally escort him back to his prisoner-for-a-day room, and the CI hoped that just meant Hughes wanted to touch base with El and not that there would be more questioning. He was honestly _over_ the questioning. 

But as they passed Jones’ desk, the agent reached out and clutched at Caffrey’s arm for attention while continuing his phone conversation. “Yeah, I just sent you the address; I’ll meet you there.” He was already shrugging into his jacket before he’d even hung up the phone.

“What’ve you got?” Hughes demanded.

“Possible location,” Jones answered shortly, as they all moved quickly toward the elevators. “One of Ruiz’s teams picked up a couple of low-level guys, one each for Vikander and Prinz. Prinz’s guy was about ten seconds from having his skull bashed in, so he was glad to start talking. He thinks he knows where they’ve got Peter; said they’ve moved all over town today once Prinz got the idea Vikander was coming after him.”

Caffrey had been carried along in the rush of the moment, and now stood with the other two men, waiting impatiently for the elevator. He wasn’t sure he’d actually been invited along, but until someone told him differently, he was going.

Unfortunately, the clear bell of the opening door seemed to snap Hughes back to reality, and Neal’s plan died on the spot. “Caffrey! Dammit!” Hughes had stopped short in the threshold, both keeping the door open and blocking the CI’s entrance.

“I can’t go?”

“Of course you can’t go! Jones, I’ll meet you downstairs in a few minutes.” He reached out to grab Caffrey’s arm again, but the young man immediately stepped away, hands spread wide.

“I know the way,” Caffrey told him firmly, “don’t waste time.” He could see Hughes was conflicted, but he was already backing down the hallway, away from the exits, toward the interrogation room. “I promise; just go. I’ll let Elizabeth know the basics. I _promise_.” And finally, Hughes stepped into the elevator and allowed the door to close.

As soon as the others had gone, Caffrey slumped back against the wall, eyes closed, breathing deep. He knew he needed a minute before facing El, even though the news was hopeful—or at least as hopeful as they’d had. He thought that after today, he might actually request to be assigned to mortgage fraud for a while. He tried not to consider the idea that after today he might not have the chance to be assigned to anything at all. Finally feeling as collected as he was likely to feel, he dragged a hand through his hair and made his way to interrogation.

He paused briefly at the one-way glass and peeked in at his friends. He was glad to see Mozzie had Elizabeth smiling, no doubt regaling her with one crazy conspiracy theory or another. He gave a half-hearted wave as he reached Agent Downing, but the man stopped him from passing.

“I just need to do a quick pat-down, Mr. Caffrey.”

“ _Seriously_?” The question was out before he was even consciously aware of it, but then he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He jerked a thumb toward the room. “You know _they’re_ not in custody, right? And I’m voluntarily surrendering myself again, so what, _exactly_ , do you think I might be trying to sneak in there?”

“It’s just policy, sir; suspects are searched before being confined. It’s not personal.”

“Of course not,” Caffrey muttered under his breath as he raised his arms to the side and spread his feet apart. But being labeled a suspect in his handler’s kidnapping was starting to feel pretty damned personal. “Agent Jones has allowed me to keep my phone today,” he added as Downing’s hand slid over the device, then pulled it from the pocket for a quick examination.

“Yes, sir.” He returned the phone to Caffrey then stepped back to the position he’d maintained all day. “Go ahead, sir.”

Neal sighed. “Look, really, it’s not _sir_ or _Mr_. _Caffrey_ , okay? It’s just Neal. I hope to not be stuck here much longer, but in the meantime, seriously, just Neal.” He turned toward the door, then immediately turned back to the agent. “And I get that it’s not personal.” Then he took a deep breath and stepped back into his glass prison.

Elizabeth and Mozzie had obviously been watching through the glass, and two voices spoke as one. “Are you okay?”

Managing a slight smile, Caffrey offered reassurance to his friends. “Yeah, I’m fine. But, listen, there’s some news.” He moved quickly to sit next to Elizabeth. “They think they know where Peter is. They picked up a couple of guys who gave them a lead; all the teams are headed there now. That’s all I know, but I wanted to tell you right away.”

“Oh, thank God.” El offered a nervous smile. “I don’t guess you know where, or how long we should expect?”

Caffrey shook his head. “I’m sorry. They didn’t mention it, and wouldn’t have said even if I’d asked. I’ll definitely be glad when they let go of the idea that I had anything to do with this.”

Elizabeth patted his hand. “Peter will set them straight.”

“She’s right, _mon frère_ ,” Mozzie agreed. “The suit’s return will bring good news for everyone.”

“Sure it will,” Caffrey forced himself to agree. “So we’ll just have to wait.”

“Lucky for you, you returned at an opportune time. I was just about to explain to Mrs. Suit how they created the astronauts’ “return” to Earth after the fake moon landing. And, I have to give them credit; parts of the scam were really quite inspired. What they had to do first . . .”

Elizabeth’s hand was still resting on his, so Neal covered it gently with his other hand, tossed her a wink and a fond smile for Moz’s ramblings, and let his eyes promise her that everything was going to be all right.

* * *

They’d been waiting over an hour, and Mozzie had moved on from the moon landing to something about the Denver airport and the new world order when Elizabeth’s phone rang. First, she jumped, then just stared at Diana’s name on the caller ID, her hand clutching at Neal’s again and fear filling her eyes.

“Peter’s phone was destroyed,” Caffrey said quickly. “And Diana wouldn’t call you with bad news; she’d come here, or call me.”

Seeming to recognize the truth of that, Elizabeth accepted the call and raised the phone to her ear. “Hello?” And then, “Hi, hon.”

Neal let out a small whoop of joy as he jumped from his seat, then pulled a grinning Mozzie to his feet and hustled him out the door.

“She’s talking to Agent Burke,” Caffrey said to Downing, flashing his blinding grin. “I just wanted to give her some privacy, but I’ll stay right here.”

Downing grinned right back at him. “That’s great news.”

“Yeah. The very best.”

Several minutes later, Elizabeth waved the two men back into the room, her normally radiant smile fully returned. “They’re coming back here,” she told the others, “probably forty-five minutes out.” And then she threw one arm around each of their necks and pulled them into a warm embrace, which even Mozzie seemed glad to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience as we follow Neal's story. I promise, Peter is back next chapter!  
> And, thanks to all who've sent notes & kudos; I really appreciate it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are finally reunited and stories are told.

Neal was sure he’d had longer hours—probably several of them just today—but the wait for Peter to get back to the federal building was excruciating. Mozzie and Elizabeth both believed that as soon as Burke returned, this ordeal would be over for _all_ of them, though Caffrey wasn’t entirely convinced that was the case. But, either way, he knew he wasn’t going to feel entirely at ease until he saw the man with his own eyes.

Elizabeth had remained in the room for another thirty minutes or so after her phone call, but then had given in to the truth that she really wanted to see her husband alone for at least a few minutes, so she’d gone to wait in Peter’s office. Mozzie stayed with his client and had been, for once, surprisingly quiet, leaving Neal to a multitude of thoughts. But the silence finally seemed to be more than he could stand.

“I can hear you thinking all the way over here.”

Caffrey smiled slightly and raised his head from the table to see Mozzie standing at the far wall, staring out to the skyline beyond, which was now bathed in the golden glow of a dwindling day. The view was nicer now than it had been earlier, he thought.

“What are you so worried about?” Moz continued, still watching the outside world.

“I’m not sure exactly,” Neal admitted. He crossed the small room to stand next to his friend, thinking the outside world should be easier to deal with now that he knew Peter was okay. “Earlier, being a suspect, getting stuck in here, answering their same questions a dozen times—it was frustrating and, honestly, it was hurtful, but it was . . . secondary. Getting Peter home was the important thing.”

“And now?”

“Now, I have time to consider how deep this hole might actually be.”

Mozzie turned to face him. “You heard Elizabeth. The suit will set them straight.”

“I’m sure he’ll try,” Neal agreed, “but what if he can’t? Unless Prinz offered up a confession, he doesn’t _know_ anything. And, really, what if the reverse is true? What if somehow Prinz managed to convince Peter that he was telling the truth?”

“For what purpose?”

“Who knows? I don’t know why he did it to begin with.”

“It doesn’t matter what they _think_ , Neal, there’s not going to be any evidence. They can’t convict you of something based on nothing more than the ramblings of a lunatic kidnapper.”

“They don’t have to convict me, Moz, they just have to revoke my probation, and they don’t need much more than suspicion to do that. You saw what they did after the explosion, and I even had corroborating evidence on my side then.” He shook his head roughly. “Putting me back in prison is easy, no matter what I do.”

“Neal.” Mozzie spoke his name and then waited silently until Caffrey finally met his gaze. “You’re spiraling, _mon frère_. It’s been a long day, and you’ve been worried about the suit, but you need to take a breath now. Don’t borrow trouble.”

Neal kept his eyes on Mozzie’s, drawing strength, until his mind quieted a bit. Then he crooked a tiny grin, and looked back out at the city, watching the lights beginning to pop on in anticipation of the coming evening. “You do know you basically just told me to trust the suits, right?”

Mozzie’s eyes widened. “Wait. What? I think you must’ve misunderstood.”

But Neal chuckled. “I don’t think so. I think that’s just another secret I’ll have to keep.”

“It’s not easy to keep secrets from the FBI,” said a voice from behind them. “And probably not smart.”

“Peter.” Neal’s grin split his face, and he was across the room quickly, pulling his partner into a strong hug, grateful for an opportunity he had feared would never come.

He held the other man for a long moment, then pulled back, but still didn’t let him go. Grasping Burke’s arms, Caffrey looked him up and down critically. Rumpled suit, loose tie, shirt missing a collar button, small crack at the edge of his mouth, and one slightly grayish eye that looked like it would be fully bruised by tomorrow. The agent had clearly had a rough day, but nowhere near as rough as Neal had imagined. “Are you okay?”

Burke smiled at him. “I’m fine. Really. Prinz was apparently supposed to deliver me to some Russian with a bad attitude, but then when he figured out I wasn’t going to be the only one on the dance card, Prinz decided he might need a bargaining chip at some point, so he kept me pretty intact.” Burke examined his own partner. “What about you?”

“Me?” Neal was surprised enough that he released his grip from the agent. “I’m fine.”

“No thanks to your cohorts,” Moz interjected.

Peter finally acknowledged the little man. “Haversham. I gather from your getup that you’re here in your legal capacity.”

“Very astute, Suit. I’m glad to see your unexpected outing today did not cause you any impairment.”

“Yeah, me, too. Do you think I could talk to your client alone for a while?”

“I don’t usually recommend such reckless behavior,” Mozzie said severely, “though he’s already been operating against my wishes today, and you’re probably the safest suit I’ve left him with.”

“That’s flattering,” Peter said drily and jerked a thumb at the door.

“Will he still be needing representation at the end of your conversation, Suit?”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t think so, but until we can talk . . .”

“Fine. Neal, remember what I said about knowing when to keep your mouth shut, even for this one. I’ll wait for you at your place, and we can debrief then.”

Caffrey had opened his mouth to agree when Burke surprised him by saying, “I’m not sure you should plan on him being home tonight.”

Neal forced words from his tightening throat. “Then, maybe my attorney should be present for our conversation, after all.”

Mozzie sidled closer to Caffrey, putting himself between the other two men. “Perhaps I miscalculated your danger level, Suit.”

Peter glared down at him. “Mozzie, _go_. Let me talk to my partner.”

Neal blinked at the words, then searched Burke’s face, trying to understand. “ _Peter_?”

“Trust me, Neal.”

The agent’s softly spoken words were all the CI needed. “It’ll be okay, Moz.” He held up a hand as Mozzie turned to object. “I won’t forget what you said. And I’ll call you tonight no matter what, okay?”

Moz nodded once. “As you wish. Hopefully, the call won’t be of the you’re-only-allowed-one variety.” He directed one more remark to Burke on his way out. “Don’t make me regret being glad to see you, Suit.”

When they were alone, Neal turned his tentative gaze to the older man. “What’s going on, Peter?”

“You tell me.”

Caffrey stiffened a bit but didn’t turn away from the stern tone. He slipped his hands into his pockets, conjured up a wisp of a smile, and would’ve looked coolly relaxed to the casual observer. Of course, Peter was hardly a casual observer, so Neal knew he would also have seen his darkening eyes and the tension of his jawline. But he kept his voice soft. “Don’t play games, Peter, not today. If they’ve decided to send you in as the big guns for another round of questioning, could we just get on with it?”

“I’m not the big guns, Neal; I really just wanted to see you, make sure you’re okay.”

“Whatever you say. But let me just get this on record again, for you: I wasn’t involved.”

“Oh, come on, Caffrey, you think I don’t know that? Much as I hate to admit it, I’ve been outsmarted by you enough times I can at least recognize it after the fact. If nothing else, this lacks a certain finesse I would expect from you. Besides, you’re still here, right? Your schemes don’t go that far off the rails all that often.” He took a step closer to his friend and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “And, there’s no way I’d ever believe you’d be willing to trade my life for your freedom. I’m sorry that anyone has doubted that today.” 

And finally, Neal felt all the fear of the day melt away, and a rare, genuine smile lit his face. “Peter.” Every ounce of relief and loyalty and truth was breathed out in the single word. He pulled the older man in for another brief hug—just long enough to convince himself the warm stability was real—then released him again. He didn’t delude himself that all his problems had disappeared with Peter’s return, but he knew he’d be better prepared to face them now.

“Okay, Agent Burke, why don’t you tell me about your day? We’ll compare horror stories.” He moved back toward the table.

“Horror stories?” Burke was incredulous. “No matter what was going on here, at least you didn’t have guns pointed at you all day.” As he sat, he discreetly reached over and activated one of the microphones.

“No, not all day,” Caffrey agreed calmly, “just once.” He laughed as the look of surprised horror flashed across the agent’s face. “But that’s for later. You go first.”

So, Burke recapped his day, explaining how he had not immediately realized he was no longer in the same office, how he’d wondered what had happened to Neal, as well as where his backup had gotten to and what was taking them so long to show up. Prinz had worked hard to spin his tale of Caffrey’s betrayal, but soon discovered it was his own partner who’d done the betraying. They’d been at a prearranged meeting spot, where Peter was supposed to be turned over to Vikander, when the Russian made his move. But Prinz’s bodyguards were well-paid and loyal, and several of them gave their lives protecting the man, while those that survived had dragged Burke out of the firefight along with their boss. After that, they’d moved from place to place, trying to stay ahead of Vikander and his men, but Prinz had apparently been too trusting with a fairly new business partner and hadn’t kept enough secrets; Vikander always knew where to look. Peter had tried to convince Prinz to turn himself in, of course, make some kind of deal. Even without knowing Vikander, the agent had a pretty good idea the guy was bigger fish than his forger. But Prinz had refused, convinced he would be able to make his escape as soon as he figured out a way to leverage the federal agent now in his possession. He was still trying to figure out his plan when Vikander caught up with them again, closely followed by a small army of FBI agents.

“And what did they want with you in the first place?” Caffrey asked. “And what the hell was their beef with me?”

Burke laughed. “As near as I can figure, when we got made, Vikander assumed we were using Prinz to get to him, wanted to be able to extract information from me to see what the Bureau knew, how compromised his operation really was. You, Prinz was apparently just pissed at on general principle for daring to con him. Vikander wasn’t interested in you, and Prinz really isn’t much of a killer, so he figured landing you in prison would be a good compromise. At least I _think_ that’s how it was. It’s not like we had a big heart to heart; I’m making a lot of assumptions based on the few things I know.”

Neal felt a smile working its way to his lips again, secure in the knowledge that one of the things the agent knew was that his CI could at least be trusted not to sell him out to a murderer. But what he asked was, “And how _did_ we get made?”

“That I don’t know.”

Watching all traces of laughter vanish from his handler’s face, Caffrey instantly understood the problem. “Oh.”

“Look, Neal, I know it wasn’t you.”

“Yeah. I mean, _no_ , it wasn’t. But what you know isn’t the only consideration, right? Have to be able to prove it.” Sometimes he really hated that part of the bureaucracy, though it had undoubtedly saved him many times in the past. He let his eyes wander the room, away from Peter’s. “They think I did it because of Kate, you know. Or, at least, what happened after. They think I don’t want to be here anymore; they think I blame you.” He scrubbed a hand tiredly across his face. It felt like this day had lasted forever, though it was barely past twilight through the window. Then he looked back at Burke.

“They’re wrong,” he said softly. “About all of it.”

Peter leaned back in his chair, examined his young friend thoughtfully for a moment, then gestured toward the piles of paper at the far end of the table. “El told me you helped keep her mind off things today.”

“It was pretty mutual.”

“I appreciate it just the same. I know how scared she must’ve been.”

Caffrey nodded, didn’t tell him they were _all_ scared. “I was just glad to be able to do something useful.”

“Well, you’ve heard about my day; I think it’s time I hear about yours.”

“Sounds like you’ve already heard about the important parts.”

“Come on, Caffrey, a deal’s a deal.”

Managing a small grin that he didn’t quite feel, Neal began his own recitation. He did mention the fear then, waking up alone in Prinz’s office, automatically assuming the worst. He told about the agents’ suspicious accusations, how Jones had taken charge of him, grilled him for answers, then did it again with the machine, stayed angry with him then finally came around. As frustrating as it was to be on the wrong end of that process, Neal was confident Peter would’ve approved of the entire procedure. It wasn’t exactly by the book, but it was an effective way to wear down a prisoner and get at the truth. He didn’t mention how far down he’d actually felt himself slipping. He gave a lively account of the initial brief encounter with Agent Downing, telling his handler the guy probably deserved some kind of bonus for the day. Burke had seemed a little worried by the incident, and Caffrey hoped the young agent hadn’t broken some sort of regulation Neal didn’t know about that would land him in trouble. As far as he was concerned, the kid might’ve been a little overzealous, but agents pointed guns at suspects all the time, so he didn’t think there should be a problem. He explained how he put Mozzie to work, how they’d all tried to protect El from learning Russian mobsters were involved. He glossed over Elizabeth’s initial entrance into the interrogation room, focusing instead on their silly games and drawings. Then he finished by telling about his low-key interrogation by Hughes, the team’s mad dash to Peter’s newly discovered location, and the agonizing wait the last couple of hours in this room. He did not include his renewed fear that he might soon be trading the interrogation room for a more traditional cell.

“And there you have it,” Caffrey concluded with a shrug, “a day in the life.”

Burke was staring at him a little wide-eyed. “Are you telling me that I have to thank _Mozzie_ for finding the key to my rescue?”

Neal grinned at him. “Honestly, he’d probably rather you didn’t. Being responsible for saving a suit might be more than his psyche could handle.”

The agent let out a short laugh. “I bet.” He looked around the room slowly, almost as if seeing it for the first time. “I’m kind of surprised they left you in here,” he commented idly.

“Me, too,” Caffrey admitted.

“How many ways out did you come up with?” 

Neal’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he quickly looked away from the older man, knowing even as he did, it was a sure giveaway. He raised his eyes again and let his rueful grin concede the point. “Three.” But Peter was still holding his gaze, clearly waiting for a different answer. After a bit, he mumbled something further. “I mean, you know, three sure-fire plans, a few others that were pretty iffy, maybe one or two emergency last-ditch efforts that probably never stood a chance.”

This time when Peter laughed, it was long and hard, and Neal guessed it was a welcome release of the day’s tensions. At least, that’s how it felt for him when he finally joined in.

When the last of Burke’s laughter faded away, he straightened to face his friend directly, his expression open and sincere, warmth radiating from his eyes. “I’m proud of you, partner.”

That earned the man another of those rare, personal Caffrey smiles, and Neal thought it might be the most surprising thing he’d heard all day. The unexpected affection of the moment gave him the courage to ask the question he’d been putting off. “What haven’t you told me, Peter? Why am I not going home tonight?”

Burke blew out a small sigh. “We need to get Prinz on record that you weren’t actually involved. And, hopefully, figure out who blew us in to him. Vikander or someone else in the organization might have that information, but I don’t know. But everyone lawyered up pretty fast, even before we got them processed. It’s getting late. Attorneys may or may not make it down tonight, and they might advise their clients not to talk yet. Very possible tomorrow is the earliest we can hope to get this mess cleared up.”

Caffrey could see where this was going, but he tried to throw up another possible diversion. “What about the blood test?”

“Results came back while the team was out grabbing me up,” Peter told him. “Some kind of unknown drug cocktail, looks like its primary ingredient was propofol, but it had such a quick and easy recovery, no real side effects, there is some concern it could’ve been administered to set a cover story.”

“Okay.”

Burke hitched an eyebrow. “Okay?”

Neal tried to put on a brave face. “Probably MCC, huh?” He shrugged. “I told them from the beginning to stick me there if they needed to. I get it.”

Peter seemed disgusted by the idea. “Neal, I’m _not_ putting you in the correctional center. What the hell are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that after Kate, you guys shipped my ass right back to maximum security before her body was even cold. Probably too late to take me all the way out there tonight, but the MCC is practically around the corner, and they’ve probably even got space in the supermax unit. _That’s_ what I’m thinking.” Caffrey really hadn’t intended to be so bitter, but this day was wearing him down fast. He thought it might actually be easier to just be locked up rather than keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was _tired_. After a beat, he offered up that truth as part of an apology. “I’m sorry, Peter; it’s just been a really long day. If you’ve got any more questions, I’ll answer them, but, otherwise, let’s just get this done, okay? Wherever you’re dropping me for the night, let’s just go.”

“It has been a long day,” Peter agreed, “and it’s obviously made you a little nuts. I’m not _dropping_ you anywhere; I’m taking you home. _My_ home, I mean. If that’s okay with you.”

“ _Really_? But . . . I don’t understand. After Kate—”

“After Kate,” Burke broke in, “was _different_. Different in a lot of ways, really, but most importantly, different because I didn’t have a badge then. You think I would’ve let them lock you back up if I’d had any authority at all? You don’t give me enough credit sometimes.”

“I really don’t,” Neal agreed with a small smile.

“So, are you ready then?”

“You mean now?” Caffrey jumped to his feet. “Yeah, I’ve been ready to get out of this room for hours. Just wasn’t sure we were done with the interrogation.”

“This wasn’t an interrogation, Neal,” Peter corrected, “it was a debrief.”

“Okay. I just figured with the recording and all, it was an interrogation.”

“Oh, you saw that, did you? I thought I was being pretty smooth.” He reached over and stopped the recorder.

“Peter. Maybe you don’t give me enough credit sometimes.”

The agent grinned. “Maybe. Anyway, the debrief needed to be done, and El says we’re not allowed to talk about any work stuff tonight once we’re out of the building. Okay?”

“No arguments here.”

They were in the open doorway before Peter remembered something else. “Oh. El said there’s a picture she wanted; said you’d know which one it was?”

Neal stepped back to the table, rummaged through the stack of papers and found the portrait he’d drawn only a few hours earlier. Seemed so much longer. It really had been a very long day. “Got it.” He attempted to breeze on out the door, but Peter stopped him.

“Well, let me see it. I’ve been wondering what kind of doodle she’d be so interested in bringing home.”

“It’s nothing.”

But as usual, Peter seemed to be expecting to get his way and just held out his hand. “It was for Elizabeth, Peter,” Caffrey said as he handed it over with a slight flush.

Burke looked at the drawing for a long moment, then back up. “I can see why she wanted it.” He clapped his partner on the back and finally led him out of the interrogation room.

“Goodnight, Downing,” Peter said as they passed the junior agent. “We’re done here, go home.”

“Yes, sir, goodnight. And, goodnight, Neal.”

Caffrey grinned and waved a farewell to the young agent.

* * *

As they made their way downstairs, Neal placed a quick call to check in with Mozzie, and was grinning as he hung up. “He wanted me to remind you,” he said to Burke, “that any reasonable person would still consider this a custodial situation and any violation of my rights would be dealt with stringently.”

“I’ll consider myself on notice,” Peter replied, rolling his eyes.

As they settled themselves in the car, Peter asked Neal to text Elizabeth to let her know they were headed home, since his own phone had been a casualty of the day. She immediately called right back, so Neal dealt with the phone while Burke pulled out of the parking garage. “Hi, Elizabeth; Peter’s driving so I’ve got you on speaker.”

“Hi, Neal, hey, hon.”

“Hi, hon.”

“Neal, I’m glad you’re coming over. I wanted you to know I went by June’s and packed a bag for you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, but you didn’t have to do that. You should take it easy tonight, relax.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that because the other thing I wanted to tell you guys is that I don’t feel like cooking tonight.”

“No problem,” Neal assured her. “I can put something together. Least I could do for the people keeping me out of lockup.”

“Oh, sweetie, that’s not what I meant. I meant, you two should stop and pick up Chinese or something.”

“We can do that, hon,” Peter told her. “Anything in particular?”

“No, you know what I like. Just get a lot; I’m going to need it to absorb all the wine I plan on having.”

Peter laughed. “Sounds like a plan. We’ll see you soon.”

Neal glanced over at his handler as he ended the call. “Rough days all around.”

“Yeah.” Burke cast a sudden scowl over to his passenger. “But you need to quit making me look bad.”

“How did I make you look bad?” Caffrey demanded. “I’m the one who has to have a babysitter just to stay out of jail, and you’re the upstanding lawman riding in to save the day.”

“Oh, please. _Jail_. El knows you don’t belong there, so that doesn’t count. I’m talking about the other thing. Never volunteer to cook!”

* * *

Dinner had been more relaxed than Neal would have imagined, considering the day they’d been through, but there had been good food, good conversation, and lots of laughter. And, as promised, lots of wine. Now the three of them sat in the living room, Peter and El snuggled up on the couch, Neal slouched into an occasional chair that had been rearranged to allow him to prop his feet up on the coffee table. A newly opened wine bottle also sat on the table, positioned for easy access, though Peter had switched to beer after dinner.

As agreed, there had been no FBI talk, and certainly no conversation concerning the day’s events, and that was fine with Neal. There would be plenty of time to revisit that particular nightmare tomorrow.

But El didn’t consider Neal’s previous exploits business talk, so he was entertaining them with stories of some of his grander adventures. Allegedly, of course.

“Honestly,” Peter laughed, “sometimes it amazes me you lived long enough for me to catch you. And, for the record, I’m adding bridge diving to your list of probation prohibitions.”

“Uh-uh, Peter,” Neal admonished, even wagging a finger in his handler’s direction, “no FBI business allowed tonight.”

“He’s right, hon,” El agreed, “none of that tonight.” She leaned up and kissed him quickly. “But you be sure and change that list of rules tomorrow; someone’s gotta keep him safe.”

“No fair ganging up on me,” Neal laughed.

“Now you know how I usually feel,” Peter told him petulantly. “But go on, tell us what happened after the swan dive off the Bay Bridge.”

But before Neal could elaborate any further, the telephone rang. Peter grabbed the cordless handset and glanced at the incoming name. “Sorry, it’s Diana.”

“I should have told her the rules,” Elizabeth muttered as Peter answered the call.

“Hey, Diana. . . Oh? He did? . . . That sounds like a good plan. . . _Who_? . . . I can’t believe it. . . Say anything else? . . . No, it’s great. Maybe the best news today. Thanks for calling, and thanks for taking care of it tonight. And, really, thanks for everything today; you were great.” He laughed. “Yeah, a couple . . . okay, more than a couple. But that doesn’t mean it’s not sincere. Now go home, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He ended the call then looked up to see two pairs of blue eyes staring at him expectantly. He grinned and said, “It’s FBI business, so I don’t know if I should—”

“Peter Burke!” Elizabeth slapped at his chest for added emphasis. “Tell us!”

Neal had dropped his feet to the floor and was leaning forward, eyes clouded with apprehension. “Yes, tell us. Unless it’s bad, and then I’d rather wait until tomorrow. I mean unless you have to arrest me tonight—”

“Neal.”

“—then I guess it can’t wait, but if there’s a choice—”

“ _Neal_.”

“—I’d sure rather go to jail in the daylight. Sometimes guys get cranky if you interrupt their sleep.”

“ ** _Neal_**!”

Burke’s shout finally got through, and Caffrey shut up. He straightened slightly and then sat silently, head cocked just to one side, eyes frozen open, waiting.

“You are _not_ going to jail,” Peter began, making the most important point first. But Neal didn’t relax much, so he hurried on. “Prinz is going to flip on Vikander, get himself a reduced sentence in some medium-security facility someplace warm. But the deal was also conditioned on him giving a full statement about your part in today’s adventures. He finally admitted it was all a setup, that you weren’t involved at all. It’s all wrapped up, signed, sealed, delivered.”

Caffrey was still staring, waiting.

“ _Neal_. You understand? It’s over.”

But Caffrey thought there was still an unanswered question. He also thought maybe he shouldn’t have had _quite_ so much wine. He took a breath and focused his thoughts.

“ _Oh_. Peter, how did they make us to begin with? He told them that wasn’t me, right?”

Burke smacked himself on the forehead. “Right. Sorry, forgot that part. You are never gonna believe this.”

Elizabeth slapped at him again. “Don’t be so dramatic, Peter, just spill it.”

“What she said,” Neal agreed.

“Remember when Sergei was in town earlier this year, for Keller?” Neal nodded, so Peter continued on. “Seems he’s a friend of Vikander’s. Just happened to be in the office one day when Prinz was reviewing some security footage from one of our meetings and recognized us. Can you believe that? He tells what he saw that day on the waterfront, Vikander and Prinz do enough digging to put names with faces, and then this morning, we walk right into a trap.”

Caffrey shook his head slowly. “That’s crazy. Can’t believe Keller’s still causing trouble all these months later.”

“The only good thing is the AUSA thinks she can get Vikander to flip on Sergei, just keep reeling in the bigger fish.”

“So it really is over,” Neal said slowly, leaning himself back into the chair.

“It’s really over.”

“This is definitely worth breaking the rules for,” Elizabeth declared. “And it’s worth celebrating. More wine, anyone?”

The men laughed. “I shouldn’t,” Neal told her, holding out his glass, “but I’m going to, because you’re right, it’s worth celebrating. I can’t tell you how annoying it was going to be to go to prison for something I didn’t even do.”

Peter laughed again, then said suddenly, “Hey, you’re not a suspect anymore, you don’t have to stay here tonight. You can go home if you want. I could drive you.”

“You can’t drive me, Peter. I’m sure the Bureau frowns upon their agents driving under the influence.”

“Oh, yeah. I might be a little tipsy.”

“But I can get a cab, get out of your hair.” Neal was pushing himself to his feet.

“No, wait. That’s not what I meant,” Peter objected. “I just wanted you to know you didn’t _have_ to stay.”

“But you _can_ stay,” El added. “And I think you _should_ stay. You’re here, the guest room is already made up, and it’s getting late.”

Caffrey didn’t really need to be convinced. The fear he’d had that Peter might not survive this day was still too fresh, not to mention his fear of being returned to prison. If they were willing, he wanted to stay here, where it was safe. “You sure?”

“Of course. I don’t know how I would’ve made it through today without you, Neal. We had the scary part; we should have the good part.” She looked pointedly over toward the bookcase, where she’d placed his drawing into an oversized picture frame. He smiled at her and nodded.

“Besides,” Peter, a step or two behind, was still trying to convince him, “you still haven’t told us what happened after the bridge.”

Neal laughed as he sank back into his chair. “It’s probably going to seem a little anti-climactic at this point, but after I came up out of the water . . .

**~End~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone for reading; I’m glad you came along for the ride. And special thanks to all those who have taken the time to share some encouragement; I appreciate it more than you can know.


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